The Pursuit of Madness
by Red Dragonfly
Summary: After he abducts her, Emma goes back to arrest Jefferson. But madness is catching, and Emma starts to realize that his version of reality isn't as crazy as it seems. Will her newfound belief be enough to break the curse? Alternate timeline. Slow-burn, eventual love triangle between Jefferson x Emma x Hook.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note:** By my friend Rita's request ("All hail the Evil Queen of Shipping"), I try my hardest to do a love triangle between Jefferson, Emma, and Hook. However, I've chosen to throw in a convoluted plot, because that's what I do. You're welcome and sorry? Hook will enter in later, but for now, the focus is on Emma and Jefferson. For the record this takes place at Season 1, Episode 18: "The Stable Boy." Everything before that happened as usual. Everything during and after… well, it's in my hands.

... ... ...

 _Previously on Once Upon a Time..._

Mary Margaret stands accused of the murder of Katheryn Nolan, David's wife. Fearing the worst, she attempted to escape using a skeleton key found in her cell. Emma pursued her, only to run into Jefferson, aka the Mad Hatter. Jefferson abducted both Mary Margaret and Emma, in order to get Emma to make him a magical hat. The two women fought back, ending with Jefferson flying out the window and disappearing, leaving only a top hat on the ground. Emma takes Mary Margaret back to jail, but the case goes badly against her. Desperate to save her friend, Emma looks for new leads on this case...

... ... ...

 **Chapter 1**

Jefferson woke to dull throb of pain, starting from the back of the skull and permeating throughout the rest of his body. It felt as though he'd been smacked upside the head with a blunt object before being drop kicked out the second story window. Oh, wait. He had. Jefferson opened his eyes and was rewarded with a stab of sunlight. Great. He covered his eyes.

As he slowly sat upright, he noticed something underneath him. It was the top hat he'd coerced Emma into making last night, now flattened and useless. Jefferson grimaced. Well, that had been a completely useless endeavor—even for him. The sad thing was, unlike most of his wasted efforts, this one had kindled a faint spark of hope. The look Emma had given him, he almost thought… But it was just another lie. Jefferson tossed the hat aside and began to climb to his feet.

"Hold it right there."

Jefferson groaned. This day was getting better and better.

He turned around to see Emma standing in front of her cop car, with her pistol pointed at his chest. There was no sympathy in her hazel eyes today, just a steely look of determination.

"Good morning, officer." Jefferson bobbed his head in an attempt at a bow. A surge of pain shot through his head, but he hid it with a quick, ironic grin. "I don't suppose you have any asprin on you?"

"I'm surprised you had the guts to return to the scene of the crime," she said.

"Return?"

"You're under arrest." Emma held up a pair of handcuffs. "Turn around and put your hands on the back of your head."

Jefferson felt a twitch of irritation run through him.

"You're not going to arrest me," he said.

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you free after everything you did to me and my friend."

"Your friend." He smiled. "Yes, and where is Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard? I take it you got her back to jail in time for her arraignment."

He took a step toward her.

"Freeze," Emma said. "Don't take another step."

He ignored her. "You can't convict me of anything without admitting Mary Margaret tried to escape and you covered for her. Regina will love that."

He walked right up to her and saw her stiffen, but she didn't pull the trigger. He bent his head so it was close to hers and said, in nearly a whisper.

"And I'm not crazy."

Emma pressed the barrel of the gun against his chest. "Don't make me shoot you," she said in a low voice.

"Try it," he said, pushing against the gun, pushing closer to her. "Because I've been in hell for the last twenty-eight years, and I have nothing left to lose. You want to kill me? Be my guest. Maybe it will work in this world. It didn't in the last one."

He tugged on his collar to show her the scar on his neck where the queen of heart had cut off his head. Not that Emma would know his story or believe it, even if she did. But he knew it made her uncomfortable. Just one of many things that didn't add up.

Emma stared him straight in the eye, her face intentionally blank, her shields up. Not that they protected her. Panic rolled off her in torrents, in waves. Jefferson realized he'd backed her up against the car and that there was barely more than the length of the gun keeping them apart. He was close enough to hear her breathing, and it was slow and shallow and erratic.

 _She's really thinking about killing me_. Jefferson tilted his head. Maybe he should let her. Dying wasn't the worst thing he could think of. He looked at her again and noticed that the sunlight brought out the greens in her eyes, created a halo of light over her blonde hair. He sighed. No, probably best not to turn the savior into a murderer. Nothing good could come of that.

He took a step back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a headache to tend to."

He turned around and stepped back toward the house.

WHAM! Another burst of pain slammed into his head, this time causing his vision to blacken.

When Jefferson came to, he was once again lying flat on the ground, face first this time. He tried to get up, but his hands were yanked up behind his back. He felt cold metal go around his wrists and heard a click.

"Jefferson, you are under arrest for the murder of Katheryn Nolan," Emma said, from behind him.

"Katheryn?" Jefferson said. "I didn't kill her."

"You seem like a good suspect to me," Emma said. She bent her head close to his ear and whispered, "In fact, if I were to bet between the sweet and innocent school teacher and the psychopath stalker with who lives alone in the woods with a house full of knockout drugs, I know who I'd put my money on." She grabbed his hand-cuffed wrists and yanked him up. "On your feet. Get up."

"This is a mistake," Jefferson said, as he stumbled to his feet. "You have no proof."

"Pretty sure I'll find some when I search that house of yours."

"You're going to frame me?" Jefferson started to laugh. "And here I thought you might actually be honest. Silly me."

Emma opened the car door and pushed him inside.

"I'm not going to frame you," she said. "But someone did kill Katheryn, and I intend to find out who."

"Well, it wasn't me."

"We'll see." She slammed the door.

He sighed. "You're making a mistake," he called out through the crack in the window.

Emma ignored him and started for the driver's seat, when something caught her eye. She walked over to the flattened top hat and picked it up, giving it an odd look.

"Is this the hat I made?" she asked. "You still have it?"

"Well, it was on me when I fell."

"That was two days ago."

Jefferson blinked. "Two days?"

Emma leaned against the window. "How did you get away? We went out to check on you, but there was just a hat."

"Just the hat?" he repeated.

"You weren't hurt, were you? Do you need to stop at the hospital first?"

He'd stopped listening to her. His mind was already whirling. He remembered falling out the window, the hat below him. Then impact, then pain. But before the impact, there had been that faint shiver in the air, like static charges before a lightning storm. It was that same feeling he got from Emma, faint and rare, but it was there. And even after 28 years stuck in the world, he still knew it instantly.

Magic.

"Two day?" Jefferson whispered. "You know what this means?"

"That you're suffering memory loss." Emma opened the driver's door and got inside. The door shut with a loud slam.

"You did it." Jefferson smiled. "You got it to work."

... ... ...

 **End Note:** I'll update by next week, and I hope to be pretty consistent with chapters, since I have a lot of ground to cover before Hook even appears. I'm a fantasy writer, so if you like my writing and want to check out more, you can visit my website: .com, or just click on my profile. Thanks for reading and please comment to let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously on Once Upon a Time..._

Emma arrests Jefferson on suspicion of the murder of Katheryn Nolan. Jefferson, however, is more interested in the top hat that Emma briefly got to work.

... ... ...

 **Chapter 2**

For most of the car ride, Jefferson remained quiet. Emma glanced at him through her rear view mirror. He was hunched over slightly, his hands cuffed behind his back, his long lean body held still. He'd tilted his face toward the window, so that she was unable to make out his expression. His silence made her uneasy. She couldn't shake the feeling he was plotting something.

"So tell me about yourself," she said. "How long have you lived in Storybrooke?"

He looked up at her wearily. "You know how long."

"Twenty-eight years," Emma ventured. "Since the town was cursed." When he didn't reply, she continued, "The thing is, Jefferson, I read about the curse. What I want to know is how _you_ know about it. How'd you get a hold of my kid's book?"

Jefferson stared at her. "So this is about Henry?" His eyes were startlingly blue in the sunlight.

"You seem to know a lot about his delusions."

"They're not delusions. This town," he waved his head in a circular motion, "everything you see around you… _that_ is the delusion. But you've chosen to believe the lie."

"This isn't about what I think. You've been stalking me, Mary Margaret, maybe Katheryn… have you been stalking Henry, too?"

Jefferson sighed. "I see him from time to time. I don't go looking for him."

"But you've read his book?"

"No."

"Then how do you—?"

"Because I've lived it," he said shortly. He leaned closer, and his eyes consumed the whole of her mirror. "Tell me, Emma, how do you know that Henry's your son?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

"What makes you think you have a son at all? Maybe you were lonely, so one day, when a little boy came up to your apartment and suggested that you were his mother, you made up a fantasy about—"

"I gave birth to Henry," Emma said angrily. "I remember that."

"And I remember the birth of my daughter," Jefferson replied. "What makes your memories more valid than mine?"

Emma steered her eyes back onto the road and away from his weirdly hypnotic gaze. This was ridiculous. She should have known better than to try testing out her super power on someone who was clearly insane. Jefferson didn't seem to be lying—but that had to be the crazy talking. He _was_ crazy, he was psycho—even if he had a point.

"Whatever," she muttered under her breath. "You're not going to Hannibal Lecter me."

She pulled into the station and yanked him out of the backseat. As she wheeled him toward the sheriff's station, the front door swung open and out waltzed Regina. A knot formed in Emma's stomach. The brunette mayor positively oozed smug satisfaction. Whatever happened in the jail couldn't have been good.

In front of her, Jefferson stiffened. As Emma was gripping him by the arm, she could feel his muscles tighten, see the veins in his neck pop. He stared at Regina as though she were a rabid dog.

Regina glanced at him and startled. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"He's a suspect for the Nolan case," Emma said blandly.

Regina frowned, her bright red lipstick accentuating the downward pull of her lips. "You have your killer inside the jail. Mary Margaret."

"Until she's convicted, it's my responsibility to investigate all leads."

"And you think it's _him_?" Regina arched her eyebrows with disdain.

Emma tilted her head. "Madam Mayor, do you know this man?"

Regina's dark eyes were unblinking. "I've never seen him before in my life."

 _You're lying,_ Emma thought.

She had no proof, not even a micro gesture to confirm it, yet she was certain Regina knew Jefferson. But what was the connection? Had she hired Jefferson to do her dirty work? Or maybe not even that—maybe she'd fed his delusions and steered him toward… but why kill Katheryn? Would she really turn a psychopath loose on her friend?

Unless Katheryn wasn't the target.

Emma felt a chill go through her. Too many what ifs, too much speculation. She needed to know what was really going on—and soon.

But she wasn't going to get it from Regina.

"Come on," she told Jefferson, tugging him forward.

Regina walked past them toward her car.

"Your curse is ending," Jefferson called out. He didn't struggle or even turn toward Regina, and his voice was calm. "For twenty-eight years, you kept us trapped, and soon everyone will know it." He smiled. "I look forward to that day."

Regina stared at him. "This man is crazy."

"Tell me something I don't know," Emma said, as she yanked him through the door.

Inside her jail cell, Mary Margaret was crying.

She was hunched crumpled in the corner, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Emma's heart wrung. She wanted to run to her friend—but she still had to hold tight to Jefferson, lest he use her moment of weakness to wriggle away.

"Mary Margaret, what happened?" Emma asked. "What did Regina do?"

"I don't know why she hates me so much," Mary Margaret snuffled through her fingers. "What did I ever do to her that she would want to ruin my life?"

"She ruins everyone lives," Jefferson said dryly. "Ever since she lost that stable boy of hers."

Mary Margaret jumped at the sound of his voice. She looked up, hazel eyes growing wide with recognition. "Emma, that's—"

"Yeah, I know." Emma shoved Jefferson in his own separate jail cell. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you anymore." She undid his handcuffs and slammed the door shut, pulling on the bars to make sure it was locked. "You, or anyone else."

Jefferson leaned an arm against the bars and lolled his head to the side. "I wasn't trying to hurt her. If she left town, bad things would have happened."

"Like with Katheryn?" Emma asked. "She was trying to leave town. Something bad happened. Meeting you, for example." She crept closer to the bars. "Maybe you're the one who keeps people from leaving Storybrooke."

Jefferson's jaw twitched. "I didn't kill Katheryn."

His shifty body language screamed liar.

But he wasn't lying. That was the infuriating thing.

Emma stared. Was this just another example of her super power shorting out when she needed it the most? Were Jefferson's delusions preventing him from seeing the truth? Or was he really innocent? Emma curled her hands into fists. She couldn't be wrong about this. Someone had murdered a woman and she needed to know who.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice was soft and scared. "Do you really think he—?"

"All I know is that you're innocent," Emma replied, her eyes still glued on Jefferson. "This man lives on the edge of the woods. He had a telescope pointed at this station. So even if he didn't do it, I'm willing to bet he knows who did."

Jefferson smiled. "If you wanted my help, you could have asked."

"The same way you asked me?"

"You weren't about to stop what you were doing and make me a hat."

"You're so sure about that?"

He cocked his head.

"Did you see something?" Mary Margaret asked. "Please, if you have any information, tell us. Do you know what is going on?"

Jefferson glanced at her. "I don't know what happened to Katheryn." He stared at Emma. "But I did see who left a key in Mary Margaret's cell."

"It was one of the mayor's keys," Emma said. "No surprise there."

"It wasn't Regina."

Emma tilted her head. "Who was it then?"

A long pause.

He wasn't going to tell her. She could see that in the twitch of his eyelash, in the slight curl of his lip. He was trying to figure out how to use the information to his own advantage. Emma crossed her arms over her chest. She was so sick of this. Sick of mind games, sick of seeing selfish people benefiting from the suffering of others.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," Jefferson said. "But first there's something I want."

"No," she said. "We're not doing this."

"Hear me out," he said. "You have magic; I've seen it. But until you believe, you can't fully access it—which is a problem for me. You want to know what's going on in this town. The answer is right in front of you, but you can't see it—which is a problem for you. We both want the same thing, Emma. We can help each other."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Emma said. "But I've got a better idea. That little girl you claim is your daughter—Paige?"

The muscles in Jefferson's neck tensed. "Grace."

"How about I tell her parents—her real parents—that there's a grown man spying on their daughter."

His eyes sparked. "Don't," he warned in a low, quiet voice.

"One with a history of kidnapping and violence."

"Stop!"

Jefferson threw himself against the bars; they clattered and clanged. Whatever restraint he'd held onto broke and raw anguish leaked from his face. Emma braced herself. She'd poked at his weak spot and expected nothing less than a psychotic tantrum.

Jefferson pulled away, fingers laced through the bars, and drew a deep breath. He looked like a dog in a kennel—not what she was prepared for. Emma knew that look of loneliness and desperation—that forlorn hope for a family, dying with each passing moment. What he'd said about Henry—there were times she still couldn't believe that something so good had come into her life. It didn't seem real. But she knew that Henry was her son, and if anyone had tried to take him away, she'd fight them with everything she had.

No. Emma shoved her empathy away.

Compassion was how they got you. She knew better than that. Paige wasn't Jefferson's daughter. He was just a sick man, and she wasn't going to feel guilty about showing him the truth.

"You don't want that little girl to hate you," Emma said. "Then tell me what you saw."

The emotion quenched from his eyes; his head fell.

"It was—"

"Sheriff Swan?"

Emma silently cursed. "Mr. Gold, this is not a good time."

The well-dressed landlord hobbled into station, his cane softly taping on the floor. Mr. Gold peered at Jefferson through his long bangs, genuine confusion in his eyes.

"You have a new prisoner?" He gestured with his cane.

"A suspect," Emma said.

She glanced at Jefferson and noticed he'd gone pale.

"I see," Mr. Gold turned to face her. "Need I remind you that Miss Blanchard's DNA is still on the murder weapon?"

"She was framed."

"Until you can prove that, I'm afraid she's still on the hook for murder. The prosecution has decided to move forward with the case. Officers from out of town are here to escort her to the city. It's out of our hands."

"So what are you saying?" Emma said. "There's no hope?"

"I'm afraid miracles take time," Mr. Gold said.

"How much time do you need?"

A scream broke from outside.

"Now what?" Emma said.

She dashed out of the building. She found Ruby reeling away from the back of the diner, hand over mouth like she was about to throw up.

"Ruby, what's wrong?"

"She's in the alley," Ruby said.

Emma ran past the cars to where a body lay prone on the muddy ground. The woman wore a brown jacket with strings of dirty blond hair coming out from underneath a tan knit hat. Heart-thudding, Emma turned her over.

The dirty face of Katheryn Nolan stared up at her with frightened blue eyes.

She was alive.


	3. Chapter 3

_Previously on Once Upon a Time..._

In the sheriff's office, Emma interrogates Jefferson on who gave Mary Margaret the key to escape, but is interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Gold. Katheryn is discovered to be alive after all.

... ... ...

 **Chapter 3**

If he hadn't been screwed before, he was definitely screwed now. Jefferson sat on the cot of his jail cell, hands laced against the back of his neck, head knocked against the wall. Okay, so he was in trouble. He'd been in worse situations.

He wasn't dead. Yet.

Not much of a silver lining.

"According to the lab, the drug I found in your house matched the drug in Katheryn's bloodwork." From her desk, Emma held the report up so that he could see it through the bars. "The same drug you put in my tea." She tilted her head. "Do you make a habit of drugging women?"

Jefferson sighed and banged his head against the wall.

"The lab also revealed Katheryn's DNA on a length of rope I found in your basement." Emma set the paper on her desk and lifted up a plastic evidence bag. "As for how Mary Margaret's DNA got on the murder weapon, witnesses report a strange man at the lab while testing was being done. Someone tampered with the evidence."

"It wasn't me," he said under his breath.

"New tests revealed your DNA on the murder weapon." Emma tossed the evidence bag back on her desk. "You're looking at life in prison unless you start talking."

She took a slow swig of her coffee, staring at him with her unblinking eyes. It was late, and outside the windows of the station was dark. The florescent bulb from the overhead lamp bathed the room in an eerie, artificial glow that drained the color from Emma's skin. She seemed tired. The curls in her hair were starting to go limp, her eyes were puffy. But for all that, she was still quite pretty in her tight leather jacket. More than that, there was a relentless determined energy that burned from within.

Emma put her cup down. "Where were you the night Katheryn was abducted?"

"At home," Jefferson replied.

"Anyone who can verify that?"

"No."

"How about that night the evidence was tampered with?"

"I was alone." Jefferson shut his eyes. "I'm always alone."

And just like that, he was back in his room of his manor, rows of useless top hats mocking him, the silence choking him, everything perfect and beautiful and unmoving and hollow. Jefferson rubbed his forehead. Maybe jail wasn't so bad after all.

"You're telling me you lived in Storybrooke twenty-eight years and never made any friends?" Emma asked.

Jefferson looked up. "You ever try talking to people in this town? Every day, the same things, the same arguments, the same inane conversations. It's part of the curse." He waved vaguely at the air. "Time is a broken grandfather clock, tolling the same dull chime over and over again. You can spend all day with someone; you can laugh, cry, spill precious secrets. By the next morning, they'll forget you existed. No one can grow or change or form meaningful relationships. Everyone is _stuck_."

He banged his head on the back wall—as though the loud sound could break the relentless pull of that last word. _Stuck_. Like a black hole, sucking him in, pushing him down, crumpling his world into one never-ending scream.

"I'm not stuck," Emma said. "I've made friends. I've changed."

"That's because time started moving when you came to Storybrooke."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true."

Jefferson shrugged. "Ask Henry. He'll tell you what it was like."

Emma bristled. "Don't bring my kid into this. You're being prosecuting for the abduction of Katheryn Nolan. All the evidence is against you."

"So what do you want from me? A confession?"

Jefferson laughed weakly. Not because it was funny, but because it was just so pointless. Here he was talking to the one person with the power to effect change, and she was threatening to send him to jail. It just never ended—out of one cage, into another.

"I don't think you did it," Emma said, and he stopped laughing.

"You don't?" Jefferson asked.

"It's too convenient. First, all evidence points to Mary Margaret, now it points to you." She shook her head. "I don't buy it. I still can't shake the feeling that Regina's behind it."

"Well, you certainly gave her the opportunity," he said with a roll of his eyes.

That's all it ever was. Opportunity. Regina didn't even have the decency to hate him; she ruined Jefferson's life because she needed a scapegoat. Her callousness never ceased to amaze him. As long as Regina was happy, she didn't care who she hurt.

"Hey," Emma said, sounding hurt. "It's not like you were innocent. You abducted me and Mary Margaret."

Jefferson clenched his teeth. "I was trying to get back my daughter."

"That's not an excuse." Emma didn't exactly shout, but her voice did rise; she sounded exasperated. "Even if she was your daughter, even if the curse was real, that doesn't give you the right to threaten people. You pulled a gun on me. You tied up Mary Margaret and kept her from her arraignment."

"I was…" Jefferson's voice trailed.

There was a softness to Emma's eyes, to her face, that he didn't expect. It made her look like a fairy tale princess. Jefferson tried to speak but found himself at a loss for words. Emma stepped closer to the bars.

"You're lonely, you're depressed, you're in a bad place. I _get_ it," she said. "I've been there. But there are other people in the world, Jefferson. You can't ruin their lives for the sake of your own happiness."

Jefferson stared.

He heard the words, but they didn't seem to means as much as the compassion behind them. He wasn't prepared for it; he couldn't mount a resistance. It was like Emma cared about him, and no one had cared about him in such a long time. Before Jefferson knew it, his heart was being stretched and pulled like a piece of soft taffy. It hurt, it felt so good; it was humiliating. He felt weak, he felt pitiful. He felt like fighting a dragon just to hear that tone of voice again.

Then the meaning of the words struck. Jefferson blinked.

Wait, had Emma just compared him to _Regina_?

And she was _right_ , he realized in amazement. Using his love for his child to justify his selfish actions—that was exactly the kind of thing Regina would do. Jefferson felt dizzy; had he not already been seated, he would have sunk into his cot. As it was, he felt his legs shake. How had he become Regina? _When_ had he become Regina? Sometime during his twenty-eight years in Storybrooke? Before that?

Had he ever acted in a way that wasn't selfish?

"Thank you," he told Emma.

She tilted her head. "For what?"

"For waking me up." Jefferson took a shaky breath. "For thirty years, I've thought of nothing but Grace—how to get back to her—how to fix my broken promise—how to go home. I've become single-minded in my task—like nothing or no one else exists." He looked at her. "You were trying to do the right thing, and I took advantage of that. I hurt you. I hurt your friend. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

Emma crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, like she didn't quite believe him. Her demeanor was tough and skeptical, in her leather jacket and sheriff's badge, but underneath that façade, he sensed something different. A vulnerability he hadn't expected. Emma was filled with pain, a great deal of pain, pain that had bled out and hardened into a shell around her, keeping everything else out.

"This isn't the first time this happened to you, is it?" he asked.

"I've never been kidnapped before."

"Not that," he said.

Being betrayed.

He almost said it out loud but stopped. He was quite familiar with that feeling, having nursed it for nearly thirty years. Trusting someone, even tentatively—just to have them rip away the thing you loved the most. But—Emma hadn't trusted him—and he certainly hadn't taken anything of value from her. So why did he think he could feel the betrayal emotion oozing from her hardened shell, bitter and metallic, like blood?

Maybe he was crazy.

He was certainly wrong.

Emma sighed. "Let's start over. You said you knew who planted the key in Mary Margaret's cell. Who was it?"

"I can't tell you," Jefferson said.

"You were about to."

"Before I realized what a… poor decision it would be."

"Is it Mr. Gold?" Emma asked.

Jefferson looked away. "What makes you say that?"

"Besides the fact that he's the one who interrupted us?" Emma said. "Everyone knows Mr. Gold is the only one in town people fear more than Regina."

"Most people. I have no reason to fear Mr. Gold?"

"He owns half the town," Emma said.

"Not the half I live in."

"He knows how to hurt people."

He shrugged. "Mr. Gold knows about human weakness. But there's nothing I want or fear, nothing I have that he could take from me."

"There's your daughter."

"Grace." Jefferson felt a pang go through him as he said her name. "Mr. Gold doesn't know about her."

A spark went off in Emma's eyes. "But _Rumpelstiltskin_ does."

A pulse of magic shot through her—quick and brief. It felt like a static shock. Jefferson straightened, but it was already gone. He'd observed this before—flashes of insight, flashes of power. But Emma always shoved them away before she could do anything with them.

Jefferson licked his lips, trying to keep his voice calm. "So, you know about Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Henry mentioned him. Since you've also read—er, lived—these stories, I figured you must know who he is."

Jefferson could see what she was doing, trying to get into his head, making him feel like she understood him, using empathy as a weapon. He wasn't going to fall for it—not again. But it occurred to him that it might be useful to let her _think_ she was getting to him. Because even though she claimed she didn't believe in his "delusions"—a part of her did. It came in small increments, but every time she spoke the truth, her belief grew a little stronger. If he could keep forcing her to acknowledge reality, maybe he could get her to believe in spite of herself.

"Rumpelstiltskin knows I have a daughter," Jefferson said. "Not that I ever introduced him to her—but he is the Dark One. He'll figure out who she is."

"How did you know him?"

"I worked with for him. For a little while."

"Do you know why Mr. Gold would work for Regina?"

He gave her a pointed look.

Emma sighed. "I mean, why Rumpelstiltskin would work for the Evil Queen."

"Rumpelstiltskin works for Rumpelstiltskin. Whatever he's doing, he's in it for himself."

"What was he after in… in your other life?"

"Before the curse?" Jefferson stood up. "I don't know. I didn't go poking around the Dark One's secrets." He ambled toward her. "But you can find out."

"How?"

He leaned against the bars. He was close enough now to reach out and touch her, if he wanted, and he could smell her shampoo, faintly. She didn't move away. She was curious. Her brows were furrowed slightly, her eyes green and glimmering in the lamplight.

"Henry's book," Jefferson said.

Emma blinked once, and her lips tightened. "No."

He was amazed at how quickly her walls went up. They felt like solid ramparts of earth, thrusting him away, not physically, but in every way that mattered.

"The answer is in there," he said. "Just read through the stories."

"This is ridiculous." Her voice had become rough-edged, sarcastic. "I'm not going to look for clues for a kidnapping investigation in a book of fairy tales."

It was almost impressive how thoroughly she'd cut him off. It was not just magic, but every single emotion—pity, understanding, empathy—that had been stuffed back into her shell. Jefferson clenched his jaw.

"A moment ago, you were open to an alternate interpretation of reality. And now you're not. Why? Are you afraid of getting answers? Are you afraid I might be right?"

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. If Henry can understand—"

Her defensive energy slammed into him. If it had been walls before, now it was like battering rams. Jefferson took a step backwards.

"Oh, I see," he said. "It's one thing to indulge my little 'delusions,' but your son… _that's_ a different matter."

"Henry has nothing to do with this," Emma said in a low voice.

"He has _everything_ to do with this." Jefferson ground his teeth. "Because Henry lived it, and he remembers it. And if you think my life was tough, that is nothing compared to growing up in a cursed town."

"Henry may have had a screwed up childhood, but it's not because of some curse."

"Do you even know what his childhood was like? Did you ever listen—really listen—when he tried to tell you?" Jefferson pressed his forehead against the bars, tilting his head down slightly so that he was staring Emma in the eye. "You can't ask, can you? Because you don't want to hear the truth. Henry grew up; his friends didn't; and nobody remembered it was ever any different. He could tell you, but you'd never believe him. It's easier for you to call him crazy."

Emma flinched. "I don't call him—"

"You don't have to." Jefferson said. "Kids always know what their parents think of them."

He remembered the continuous acid drip of his own parents' disappointment, the way they masked their sighs with their stiff, patronizing smiles. The knowledge peeled at his skin. Jefferson shoved the memory away and wrapped his hands around the bars.

"You think that what you believe affects only yourself, but it doesn't," he told Emma. "Every time you see the truth and choose not to believe it, you tell Henry he's wrong, he's out of touch with reality, he's crazy. And it's not just him. Your disbelief affects everyone around you. Quite literally, this whole town."

Emma drew back. Her walls had not gone down, but now he could feel something oozing over them, bitter and metallic. Pain. He was hurting her, he realized. He could see it reflected in the shine of her eyes.

Jefferson looked down. "I know you're not trying to hurt Henry," he said softly. "You want what's best for your kid."

Grace flickered in his mind, the way she'd looked playing with her toys, the slight smile on her face—the last time she was ever happy with him. Jefferson squeezed the bars.

"You want to fix every problem so that they're happy, they're safe, but somehow you miss what they really need, what they're trying to tell you."

His daughter's innocent eyes, the way she'd pleaded with him. _All I want is you. Papa, stay._

Why hadn't he listened?

"I can't do this," Emma said, her voice shaky.

Her face had tightened, the furrow of her forehead deepening, her mouth pulling into a hard frown. Her pain had turned to anger, like hot lava cascading down her earthen walls, slow and relentless and burning. Emma spun on her heel and strode back to her desk.

"I'm not going to stand here and exchange parenting advice with a psychopath whose own daughter is a figment of his imagination." She grabbed her keys. "You're accused of kidnapping and attempted murder, Jefferson. Get that through your head. You'll be arraigned soon, and unlike Mary Margaret, you don't even have your good name to protect you. Right now, I'm the only friend you've got, and I'm this close to throwing you to the wolves."

He stared. "We're friends?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Have fun at court."

She grabbed her coat and wrenched open the hall door. As Emma threw the switches, the florescent lamp extinguished; only the dim hallway lights silhouetted her form. Then Emma slammed the door shut, and the room plunged into darkness. Jefferson blinked. He heard the tick of a clock, the drone of the vent as the central heating chugged away. Nothing more.

He was alone.

Again.

Jefferson stumbled backwards. When his legs hit the cot, he hunkered down upon it.

Well, that hadn't worked.

Jefferson inhaled a long, slow breath. What had he been expecting? Emma's own son had tried getting her to believe, for months now, to no avail. What made Jefferson think he could do any better? He leaned back, until his head hit the cold concrete wall. Hope, he supposed. That was the only thing that kept him anchored to this world.

But maybe he should think more practically, not of magic and home and his daughter, but what to do with these charges against him. He rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to be locked up—not again. But he couldn't see how he'd fight these charges. Not by himself. Not without help.

The door swung open, leaking light from the hallway.

Jefferson looked up. "Emma?"

But it was not her silhouette standing in the doorway, and when Jefferson heard that first dull tap of a cane on the hard, tiled floor, his insides tightened with fear.

The florescent light flooded the room.

"Hello, Jefferson," Rumpelstiltskin said.

In this world, he seemed more man than monster. Rumpelstiltskin's skin was clear of its reptilian sheen, his eyes were a normal brown, and he did not have the aura of magic about him, a hurricane of dark, stinging energy. But he was still dangerous. Of that, Jefferson had no doubt.

"Mr. Gold," he said, standing up.

"There's no need to be so formal." Rumpelstiltskin leaned on his cane. "We're old friends, you and I. You can call me by my real name."

Jefferson's throat went dry. He swallowed.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

He smiled. "So you are awake."

Rumpelstiltskin closed the door. Now, Jefferson noticed a black skeleton key, one used by the mayor's office, clutched in his hand. Rumpelstiltskin locked the door.

"You've messed up my plans. I didn't go through all the effort of framing Regina, just for you to take the blame."

He strode toward the cell, almost pleasantly, each tap, tap, tap of his cane like the tick of a clock. Jefferson found himself breathing to the rhythm of that cane: long pauses between rapid breaths. It had been a while since he'd dealt with Rumpelstiltskin, but even on his best days, Jefferson had no idea what was going through the Dark One's mind. Rumpelstiltskin did not have walls so much as layers of emotions that oozed together into one dark, indiscernible mass.

The Dark One stopped at the cell bars and gave Jefferson a long stare.

"We need to talk."

... ... ...

 **Author Note:** This was a tough one to write. I'm going to try to keep up my one chapter a week pace for little while longer, but go easy on me if I can't keep up. I want to be consistent, but I also want to do a good job. Thanks for understanding.


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously on Once Upon a Time…_

Although Emma still believes that Regina is behind the kidnapping of Katheryn, all the physical evidence points to Jefferson. While interrogating him, Emma inadvertently compares Jefferson to Regina, which leaves him shaken. He, in turn, asks Emma to think about how her unwillingness to believe may hurt Henry. After Emma storms out for the night, Rumplestiltskin sneaks in to pay Jefferson a visit.

… … …

 **Chapter 4**

Emma's fingers clenched her steering wheel so hard she could feel them grow white. The road was a dark blur in her foggy window. She was probably driving too fast, but she didn't care. The coffee hadn't gone down well. The caffeine was hyping her up, though not as much as the fury that encased her.

Damn Jefferson.

What right did he have to tell her how to parent Henry?

Her whole life, people were constantly telling Emma who she was, how she should act, looking at her with scornful eyes, judging her. She'd grown used to it; she'd learn to block out their criticism and be her own woman. But Jefferson…

 _"You want to fix every problem so that they're happy, they're safe, but somehow you miss what they really need, what they're trying to tell you."_

Emma pulled into the parking lot, breathing hard. She tried not to think of the sympathy that poured from his eyes as he stared at her. Looking all tall and brooding and crazy and beautiful, and hurting her. Emma threw on the emergency brake and got out of her car. How did he have the power to hurt her so much? He was no one, a stranger, a criminal.

It must have been all that talk about Henry, about Emma not knowing her son, not believing, calling him crazy. Emma shut and locked the car door. He was wrong. She'd never do anything to hurt Henry.

Emma tried to calm down before she entered the loft, but some of her anger (or caffeine) must have lingered, because when she threw open the door, it crashed into the exposed brick wall with a bang. Emma sighed. It came out as an exasperated huff.

"Rough night?" Mary Margaret asked.

She stood at the sink, finishing up the dishes. She wore a white blouse and a floral skirt. Her short, jet black hair was a little out of place.

"I don't know why I bother with him." Emma tugged off her jacket and hung it on the coatrack. "Jefferson's psychotic. I should just let him rot in prison and wash my hands of the whole thing."

"But then the person who kidnapped Katheryn would still be out there," Mary Margaret pointed out.

She put the last dish on the rack to dry and made her way to the cupboard. Without glancing at Emma, she took out a sauce pan, placed it on the stove, brought cocoa powder from the cabinet, and began spooning it out into the pot.

"I already know who's behind this. I just can't prove it." Emma plunked down at the bar. "What's the point? There is no justice. The world is screwed up. I'd have to be crazy to think I can fix it."

"Well, you got me out of jail," Mary Margaret said, reaching inside the fridge for the milk. "For what it's worth."

"Because Katheryn just happened to show up."

"Things would have been a lot worse if you hadn't been there." Mary Margaret measured the milk and poured it into the pan. "You do more than you think. And Henry sees it." She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the cocoa. "Even if things don't always work out, you're still a hero in his eyes."

"A hero who can't save anybody," Emma muttered.

Henry's hopeful face darted into her mind. _You can do it. You can bring back their happy endings._

Emma balled her hands into fists. "That's not good enough."

The whole point of giving up Henry was to give him his best chance. At the time, Emma had been a screw-up, a thief, a jail bird—what kind of life could she offer a kid? It had killed her to let him go, but she'd done it, because she knew it was the right thing to do. Parents were supposed to sacrifice their happiness for their child.

Except that it had backfired. Henry's life sucked, _because_ she wasn't there. Emma should have taken care of him, she should have protected him. She couldn't change the past, but she could make up for it. She could be the mother Henry deserved and fix things for him now.

But she was failing. Henry wasn't getting better.

What was she doing wrong?

Mary Margaret tilted her head. "What is this about?"

"Jefferson made me feel like a bad parent," Emma admitted. "He says I can't understand what Henry's going through, that I'm somehow hurting him because I don't believe in Henry's delusions. I mean, that's crazy, right? What does it matter if people believe you or not?"

Mary Margaret looked down.

Now Emma saw the tiredness in her face, the way her shoulders slumped, as if she were trying to hold herself upright against the weight of a thousand accusations. Emma bit her tongue. Shoot, she shouldn't have phrased it like that.

Her friend turned back to the stove. "You know, it wasn't too long ago that everyone thought I'd killed Katheryn. People I knew my whole life turned against me." Mary Margaret tapped the wooden spoon against the saucepan, getting the last drops of hot chocolate off it. "I'd like to say their lack of belief didn't hurt me, but that would be a lie."

"Oh, Mary Margaret, I'm sorry," Emma said. "But that's not the same thing. It's one thing to believe someone is innocent or guilty—but fairy tales?"

"Maybe it's not the fairy tales Henry needs you to believe, but what they stand for." Mary Margaret took two mugs off the shelf and ladled in the cocoa. "That heroes exist. That one person can make things right in the world." She dropped two cinnamon sticks into the cups and handed one to Emma. "Maybe Henry really just wants you to believe in yourself."

A few days ago, Emma might have agreed. But Jefferson had added a wrinkle to that theory. According to him, Henry didn't want Emma to believe on some metaphorical level. He wanted her to literally believe that magic existed, that Emma was a princess, that her parents had sent her away to save Storybrooke from a curse.

A curse Henry had to live with every day.

Emma took a sip of her hot cocoa. The liquid was warm on her tongue, the earthy bite of cinnamon cutting through the sweetness of the chocolate. She'd assumed she knew what Henry's life was like. Wanting to be special, wanting to be loved, wanting there to be a reason why bad things happened to good people. Wanting someone to save her. Emma stirred the cocoa with the cinnamon stick. It was her own life she'd been thinking of, but what if she was wrong?

Did she really know her son's past?

"Mary Margaret, how long have you known Henry?" Emma asked.

"It was… well…. Huh." Mary Margaret smiled sheepishly. "You ever feel like you've known a person forever, but when you stop to think about it, it was really just a few months?"

A chill went down Emma's spine. "Yeah…."

She tried not to think about what Jefferson said about time being frozen. _You're letting him get to you_ , she chided herself. _People forget. It has nothing to do with a curse._

"I guess it must have been at the beginning of the school year." Mary Margaret sipped her hot chocolate. "When Henry first came to my class. Why?"

"Do you know if anything happened to him before then? I mean, something must have caused him to believe these stories."

 _It's the only explanation for his reality._

 _Shut up!_ Emma squeezed her eyes shut.

Great. Jefferson's crazy was starting to rub off on her.

"Oh, Emma." Mary Margaret's face crinkled with compassion; she reached across the bar for Emma's hand. "Whatever may have happened, it's not your fault. You can't blame yourself for what Henry thinks."

"I'm not blaming myself," Emma said, pulling her hand away. "I want to fix this. I want to protect Henry." She clenched the mug in her hand. "But maybe I'm approaching this all wrong. If I knew what happened in Henry's past, I might be able to get through to him."

"Well," Mary Margaret said, "unless you want to talk to Regina—"

"Not happening," Emma said.

"Then I guess you'd better ask him."

"Just… ask Henry?"

"Why not?"

"Would he tell me?" Emma asked.

"I don't see why not." Mary Margaret looked Emma in the eye. "You know, most kids want to talk about what's going on in their lives. They just need to find someone they trust, someone who cares about them, someone who'll listen without judging them."

Great. Jefferson had all but accused her of _not_ being able to listen to Henry without judging him. And now, Mary Margaret was confirming it. Emma rubbed the bridge of her eyes. Was she that bad at parenting that a crazy loner knew more about kids than she did?

"Okay." Emma drained her cocoa. "I'll ask Henry. Tomorrow."

… … …

Emma waited near the school yard in her yellow bug, bright and early the next morning. She parked in an alley and used her rearview mirrors to watch Regina drop off Henry. As soon as the mayor left, Emma hopped out of her car and ran to him.

"Henry," she called.

He turned. His impish face lit up when he saw her.

"What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk. Granny's okay?"

"But I have school."

"Assembly this morning. Miss Blanchard will cover for us. Come on, kid, I'll buy you a pastry."

Granny's Diner was warm and smelled of bacon and burnt coffee. Emma asked for a booth in the back of the restaurant, where they could have some privacy. Henry plopped down on the cushions, ordered a cinnamon roll, and unspooled it while it was still hot. Emma's bear claw sat on her plate, untouched. Her stomach was knotted, and she felt like throwing up.

Maybe the whole thing about being sheriff, fighting Regina, bringing justice to the town—maybe it was all just an excuse not to think about what had happened to her son. What might be happening to him now. Emma stared at Henry as he licked the frosting from his fingers. She thought about all the things that could happen to a kid to drive him away from reality. Did she really want to know?

"So what did you want to talk about?" Henry asked. "Is it about Operation Cobra?"

"Kind of," Emma said.

"Mom? What's wrong?" Henry asked. "Did the Evil Queen try something?

"No, Henry, it's just…" Emma took a deep breath.

 _Talk to him, you coward_ , she berated herself. _You've run down criminals, rescued people from fires, escaped a psychopath… you should be able to talk to a ten-year-old kid._

"Henry, did something happen to you before I came to Storybrooke?" she blurted.

He gazed at her with wide hazel eyes. "What do you mean?"

What was she supposed to say? Did something happen to make you crazy? That was the least helpful thing ever. Emma tapped her nails on the table. She tried to think of how Jefferson had phrased it. Ironic, but she didn't care. She just needed to find a way to speak Henry's language.

"I just want to know what it was like for you living in the curse."

"In the curse?" His head perked, and his eyes shone. "Do you believe me?"

Emma chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to lie.

"I'm trying," she admitted. "I know I haven't always been the best at listening to you… but I want to. I want to be better at hearing what you have to say."

Henry tilted his head and scrunched up his nose, like he was puzzled. Emma was afraid she'd bungled it up, too, but after a moment, Henry nodded and said,

"Well, before you came here, everything was the same. Except for my mom and me." He picked at the remains of his cinnamon roll. "Nobody changed, and when they tried, it just got worse."

Emma's skin crawled. She tried not to hear Jefferson's words from the cell.

"Can you be more specific?" she asked. "What do you mean, nobody changed?"

"The other kids at school. They never moved to the next grade, because they never got older. And as soon as I left their grade, they forgot who I was. I tried to say hi, but they acted like they didn't know me."

"Are you sure it wasn't a joke?" Emma rested her head on her hand. "I know that kids can be cruel—"

"The teachers didn't know me, either," Henry said. "I ran into Miss Blanchard a dozen times in elementary school. When I was five, I skinned my knee and she gave me a band-aid and a lollypop. When I was eight, she helped me find books on animals for my science project. I sat in her classroom during lunch for a whole winter one year. But when I became a student in her class, she acted like it as the first time she met me."

It _was_ the first time they met—that's what Mary Margaret had told Emma. But the vague expression on her face, the confusion. Something was off. _They forget_ , Jefferson said, and now Henry confirmed it. Emma's heart pounded in her chest like a jack hammer. She wanted to grab her son, run out the restaurant, and drive out of this crazy town—back to Boston, where everything made sense.

But she couldn't.

Because of Henry.

Emma swallowed. "What did Regina have to say about this?"

"She told me all my old friends ended up in different classes, and that I'd make new friends. But I saw them. They stayed in the same classrooms, year after year—everyone but me. And when I told her, she said I was wrong. Then she started making me see Dr. Hopper."

Emma felt sick. "And that's when Mary Margaret gave you that book of fairy tales?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but it was the only thing that made any sense." Henry leaned forward. "Please, you have to believe me. I'm not crazy. The town is cursed, and you're the only one who can break the spell."

It was becoming too much. Emma felt like cracks were appearing in her head, and all her thoughts were flying out. If this were true, how did anyone begin fixing it? All his life, Henry had been told he was crazy, because the world he saw didn't fit with the world he was told existed. Emma didn't want to be one more person telling him he was wrong.

But she couldn't believe it, either. They were not living in a fairy tale world. Emma had learned that the hard way; there were no white knights and heroes coming to save her. She'd had to save herself. And maybe she didn't want her son to live in that world, but that was reality.

Wasn't it?

Henry said otherwise. So did Jefferson. Two people, both with the same weirdly specific story. How had they both latched onto the same delusion? Unless…

"Henry, do you have your book?" Emma asked. "Can I see it?"

Henry took the large, leather-bound tome out of his bookbag and handed it to her. Emma felt the heaviness of the book in her hand as she flipped the pages to the Mad Hatter's tale. The illustrations only slightly resembled Jefferson, and she felt foolish for using it as a reference point, but as she didn't have a photo of him on her, so it would have to do.

"Henry, do you know this man?" She turned the book around so he could see the page.

Henry blinked. "The Mad Hatter? Isn't he the one you have locked up?"

"Have you seen him before?"

"Once or twice, I think." He scratched his head. "Every time I noticed him he ran off, like he was afraid of me. Or maybe my mother."

"Did he ever talk to you?" Emma asked.

"No."

"Did you ever see him around your book?"

"No." Henry frowned. "What's going on? Did he say something?" His eyes brightened. "Does he remember who he is?"

Emma shut the book.

"Come on, kid," she said. "Let's get you back to school."

After sneaking Henry back into his school's assembly, Emma drove to the sheriff's station. Her fingers tapped the edges of her steering wheel; she raked a hand over the top of her hair. What was she supposed to do with this new information? What was she supposed to think? She wanted to feel angry at Jefferson for bringing this up, for making her question everything all over again. But what had he done but ask her listen to the truth?

 _If it's true…_

 _It can't be…_

 _But if it is… then what?_

Emma took a ragged breath. Truth, she could handle—but not its consequences.

As she pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff's station, she noticed Regina standing at the door in a black coat, a beige file folder tucked into the crook of her arm. She was not alone. Two burly men with dark coats pulled over their white hospital scrubs flanked her on either side. A chill went down Emma's spine. In her current frame of mind, it was hard not to see an evil queen backed by her loyal guard. Or at the least a mafia boss surrounded by her enforcers.

"Late to work, Miss Swan." Regina stepped near the curb of the sidewalk, not even waiting for Emma to get out of her car before getting in her face. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I was just—" Emma grabbed her uneaten bear claw in its to-go bag. "—getting breakfast for the prisoner. What's all this?"

"Jefferson's name seemed familiar to me, so I took the opportunity to do some digging." Regina handed Emma the file folder. "It turns out my hunch was right. This man was institutionalized ten years ago. He was let out on good behavior, but it seems he's relapsed."

Emma stared at Regina. The mayor had certainly mastered the mask of professional concern. Emma opened the folder and glanced the report. At the upper right corner was a photo of Jefferson taken, according to the date, ten years ago. Aside from a black eye and some cuts on his face, he looked strikingly similar to the man she'd arrested only a few days earlier. Uneasily, Emma shut the folder.

"You didn't need to bring _them_ to hand me a file." She motioned with her head to the men in hospital clothes.

"Given his past, jail may not be the most appropriate place for him." Regina rested her hands in the pockets of her coat. "We'll put Jefferson somewhere more… comfortable. Somewhere his unique needs can be cared for."

"You want to lock him in an asylum?"

"A medical institution," Regina snapped. "Storybrooke has an excellent one just beneath the hospital. He'll be evaluated, of course, but if it's as I suspect, we won't need to involve outside law enforcement. We can settle this matter privately."

Yeah, wouldn't that be convenient? Why bother to investigate a case Regina clearly had a hand in when she could just stuff Jefferson in her little dungeon and forget about him? Emma eyed the men in the hospital scrubs. They reminded her of low-level thugs. Their dull eyes and bored sneers gave them away.

"You have the hospital in your pocket, too?" Emma asked.

"I don't know what you mean." Regina folded her arms across her chest.

"You want this case to go away. You want to pin it all on Jefferson."

"He's a menace to our town."

"This isn't justice," Emma said. "What sort of world are you bringing Henry up in? What are you teaching him? To pin your problems on others? To call anyone who speaks out against you crazy and lock them in a cell?"

Regina's lips tightened. "I've had just about enough of your insolence, Miss Swan. This man kidnapped my friend. I have every right to make sure that never happens again." She stepped closer to Emma, now inches from her face. "Open the door and let us in, or I'll have you charged with obstruction of justice."

Emma's shoulder muscles tightened. She wanted to slug Regina right in her heavily made-up face—or at least walk away and show Regina she wasn't the mayor's puppet. Emma took a slow breath. It wouldn't do any good. The mayor had a skeleton key and hired muscle. She'd take Jefferson away, whether Emma defied her or not.

Emma slammed her car door and stalked over to the sheriff's office. This wasn't over. As she pulled open the heavy door, Emma discreetly tucked the file Regina had given her under her arm. She had no proof of Regina's involvement, but she would find it—one way or another.

The mayor and her thugs strode into the office, Regina's heels making a brisk click-clack on the floor. Emma followed, keeping her head low. She knew full well how this would look. She could imagine the sting of surprise in Jefferson's eyes, followed by disappointment and despair.

The clack of Regina's heels sped up. "What's this?"

Emma looked up. The mayor dashed to the cell and grasped at the bars of the door. It swung open. As Emma walked to the cell, she noticed the cot was slightly rumpled, but still made. Other than that, the jail was empty.

Jefferson was gone.

… … …

 **Author's Note:** Sorry, this took so long. I went on vacation to New Mexico. Plus, it seems like the chapters just keep taking longer to write. Next chapter I'll get into what Rumplestiltskin said to Jefferson, and I promise I will get to Hook immediately. In the meantime, please review. Praise motivates me to write quicker, just so you know. :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Previously on Once Upon a Time…_

Emma asks Henry about living in Storybrooke under its "curse" and is shaken to find that his story matches Jefferson's. As she goes to visit Jefferson in jail that morning, she meets Regina, who wants to lock Jefferson in the town's asylum. However, when Emma steps into the office, she sees that the cell door is open, and Jefferson is gone.

… … …

 **Chapter 5**

The cabin was in a convenient location, on the footpath Grace took every day on her way to school. That's why Jefferson had bought it, shortly after Emma had arrived at Storybrooke. He'd had this crazy idea that if the feud between Regina and Emma ever got too nasty, if it ever threatened to destroy the foundations of the Storybrooke, he could always take his daughter and run. Snatch her right off the path to school. But he'd never had the guts to try.

Jefferson put his key in the lock and turned it. The cabin door sputtered open, causing a cloud of dust and loose soil to puff around his shoes. Jefferson grimaced. Once the cabin had been meant as a vacation home, but twenty-eight years of abandonment had done nothing for its resale value. With holes in the roof and water-stained floors, it reminded Jefferson of the hovel he and Grace had shared, after he'd lost his fortune and was forced to make his living selling mushrooms.

Maybe that's why he rarely came here. Too many bad memories.

Right now, though, Jefferson didn't have a choice.

He picked up his bags, the broom, and the cleaning supplies he'd scrounged from his mansion; pushed the door open with a foot; and walked inside. Now that the sun was up, he had precious little time before Emma discovered him missing. His mansion would be watched, but hopefully she didn't know about this place.

A few hours. That was all he needed.

Jefferson hit the switches with the back of his shoulder, but the cabin remained dim. Right—he'd never actually bothered to get the electricity turned on. Or the water. Jefferson set his bags on the small table near the useless kitchen sink. If memory served, there was an old well and pump in the back. It would have to do.

One thing he'd taken for granted was how easy it was to make tea in this modern world. Light the stove, put on a kettle, done. In this primitive cabin, he'd have to do it the old-fashioned way: clean the chimney, gather firewood, light the hearth, and wait an eternity for the kettle to sing.

On the other hand, it was fitting.

Tea with Grace would be just like the old days.

Assuming he could get her to come.

Jefferson peeked out the grime-smeared window. A girl in a pink hooded jacket walked down the road.

He would have recognized his daughter even if not for the rabbit charm that hung from her backpack. It didn't matter if there were a thousand girls, Jefferson could have picked her out instantly. He knew Grace like he knew the sun. She was bathed in a radiant light, a feeling of warmth and honesty that made his chest ache with pride.

Suddenly, Grace stopped. Her head turned toward the window.

Jefferson flattened himself against the wall. His heart rattled and thumped, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. Pathetic. That's what he was. To have to hide from his own daughter, watching her from afar like a perverted stalker. He was a coward.

 _But that will change_ , he promised himself. _Soon._

Today was Wednesday, and on Wednesday afternoons, Grace attended ballet class. But today was a half day, and since both her (Regina-appointed) parents worked, Grace would usually walk home by herself along the path, eat lunch, change outfits, and walk back into town. Jefferson knew her schedule well, having memorized it some eighteen years ago. His best time to intercept her was in that three hour stretch, between school and rehearsal.

Jefferson glanced out the window again. The path was clear. Nothing but trees, a dirt path, some dead grass and dried, fallen leaves. Grace had moved on.

Jefferson sighed. He put his hand in his pocket, took out his wallet, and plopped it on the table.

It wasn't his regular wallet, just an old one he'd found in his mansion. He'd stuffed it with as much cash as he had on hand, but it still looked like a prop, with no credit cards, no ID, no pictures of loved ones. Oh well. It would have to do. Jefferson fished out an old real estate business card from the kitchen drawer. The card showed a picture of his cabin with the address written just below. In black marker, he wrote, "If found, please return to" on the back of the card and circled the address. He stuck the business card in the wallet.

Then he opened the door.

The day was cold and brisk, the morning fog having only just given way to blue skies and sunshine. It felt odd to step foot in the sunlight. Though the path was deserted, Jefferson felt vulnerable. All it took was one random jogger to ruin everything.

Jefferson dropped the wallet on the road, near a tree. He half-heartedly kicked old leaves over it, decided that looked too weird, and kicked the leaves off. He took a step back. The black leather stood out on the brown dirt road. Grace would see it on her way home from school.

She would return it.

And then…

Jefferson almost didn't make it back to the house before the wave of nausea hit him—as if thirty years of guilt had possessed his body. He fell to his knees in the door frame and shook and gritted his teeth, as he tried to hold it in.

 _Not yet. Not when I still have so much left to do._

His mind vomited up the last twenty-eight years of his life, spitting in his face all those times he could have spoken to his daughter, could have earned her trust, could have been a better man, all leading back to the jail, the florescent light flickering overhead, the Dark One leering at him through the bars.

 _For twenty-eight years, you've been separated from your daughter. Now, time has started up again. So why are you in jail and not out there with her?_

Jefferson squeezed his hands into fists.

Rumplestiltskin was right. He was such a fool. And now there were only two options left. One where he got his daughter back, and one where he lost her forever. Jefferson hobbled to his feet. He knew what he needed to do. Too many years he'd lived in delusion.

It was time to fix his mistakes.

… … …

 _Earlier that night…_

Tap, tap, tap. The cane on the tile floor was meticulous and relentless, just like the one who wielded it. Rumplestiltskin wore an all-black suit to match his dark eyes and limped as he walked. Seeing his old employer after all these years, Jefferson was pleased to know he didn't fold. Maybe, after all that had happened, he'd grown inured to shock.

"What do you want?" Jefferson asked, placing an arm on the bars.

"What I always want." Rumplestiltskin took a chair from Emma's desk and placed it in front of Jefferson's jail cell. "I'm here to make a deal."

He sat down. Though the chair was cheap, Rumplestiltskin made it look like a throne. He kept his back straight and held his cane like a scepter.

"A deal?" Jefferson kept his voice flat, bored. "For what?"

"Information."

"In exchange for?"

"Your freedom." Rumplestiltskin put a hand casually into his jacket pocket and pulled out one of the mayor's skeleton keys.

"No," Jefferson said.

"No?"

"I leave, Emma chases me, I end up back here again." He made a little shrug. "Why would I make a deal for that? I want something more substantial."

"Such as?"

Jefferson looked the Dark One in the eye. "I want to know what you're planning."

Rumplestiltskin laughed.

It was not the impish, "hee, hee, hee," that Jefferson remembered; no theatrical toss of his head, no teeth clenched to form a maniacal grin. Instead, Rumplestiltskin let out a faint, grim chuckle, barely louder than an exhale of breath, coupled with a brief curl of the lips. Somehow Jefferson found this version even more disturbing.

"Have it your way." Rumplestiltskin put the key back in his pocket. "We'll do an exchange. I'll answer three of your questions, you answer three of mine. Does that seem fair to you?"

He was too forthcoming. Jefferson didn't trust him.

"You'll answer any three questions I want?"

"Not any three. I reserve the right to refuse to answer, if they're too… personal. But I will tell you what you need to know." Rumplestiltskin smiled. "Don't look so nervous, Jefferson. We've worked well together in the past. Why would I turn against you now?"

It wasn't a matter of betrayal; Jefferson doubted the Dark One even considered such things. All Rumplestiltskin saw was how he could use the desperation of others for his own purposes. Jefferson licked his lips. Even so, he didn't have many options.

"Deal," Jefferson said. "Now why did you—?"

"No." Rumplestiltskin cut him off. "You're the one whose behind bars. So we'll start with my questions, if you don't mind. And the first one I have is this." He leaned forward in his chair. "How is it that you, of all people, remember who you are?"

"It's my curse," Jefferson said.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"I came to town, like everyone else, with a new identity, a new set of memories in my head. But I also kept my memories from Wonderland and the Enchanted Forest. Two lives in my head, two separate realities. I didn't know what to believe. The Storybrooke me was given wealth and prestige and a beautiful house. I would have been happy—if I hadn't remembered what I lost."

He couldn't keep the rough note from entering his voice. Jefferson pressed his forehead to the bars, as if the pressure of the cold iron could force the pain out.

"My daughter. She's… she was ripped from me, given new parents. She doesn't know I exist." He opened his eyes. "That's how Regina chose to torture me. Knowing I have a daughter, but not being with her. Knowledge can be a terrible curse."

"No," Rumplestiltskin said.

Jefferson blinked. "No?"

"That's not how the curse works. Everyone's memories should have been taken. It's not in Regina's interest, after all, to have anyone remember who they really are. It could cause confusion, disrupting her perfect little town. It could challenge her rule."

"Regina wanted me to suffer."

"You think Regina cares about you enough to single you out for a special kind of torture? You flatter yourself." Rumplestiltskin let out a quick, jeering laugh, showing the gold in his teeth. "You're not even an afterthought. No. The curse didn't work on you, not completely. For twenty-eight years, you've been free, and you don't even know why."

Jefferson found himself blinking hard.

It was just… how had he not seen what was so obvious? He'd hated Regina so much, for so long, that he'd assumed she must also hate him—even if another part of him knew she didn't care about him at all. It was that same juggling act, two opposite thoughts competing in his head. Jefferson should have felt embarrassed, but that was too nice an emotion. Instead, he felt like he'd been slammed upside the skull with a sledgehammer.

"Well, that bears further looking into." Rumplestiltskin's brisk voice cut into his thoughts. "But later. My second question is—what on earth did you hope to accomplish by kidnapping Emma? I want the full story. Don't skimp on the details."

"I…" Jefferson heard Rumplestiltskin's words, but they were taking a long time to form meaning, like the connection from his ears to his brain had been disrupted. "I… kidnapped Emma because… I… I wanted her to make me a hat."

"A hat?"

Jefferson shook himself. "A portal back to my world. I wanted to take my daughter home—where we could be together," he added softly.

"And you thought that would work?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "That you could just run off with your daughter, back to the Enchanted Forest? Even if you had the hat, it wouldn't solve your main problem. Your daughter doesn't know who you are."

Jefferson looked down.

"What's your final question?" he asked in a dull voice.

"You wanted Emma to make you a hat. That would be an odd request—except that I know who you are. And if you have memories, I assume your… special abilities… are still intact. Which means you saw something in Emma. Something even I didn't see."

"I don't hear a question."

"Does Emma have magic?"

Jefferson shut his eyes.

It was the one question he'd hoped Rumplestiltskin wouldn't ask. He didn't want to hurt Emma. Even if she didn't believe in her magic or care, Jefferson knew the power that information carried. But lying was useless. If the Dark One asked, it meant he already knew or guessed the answer well enough. Jefferson could only hope the trade was worth it.

"Yes," Jefferson said. "Small flashes, when she believes. Right now she doesn't, so even if the magic is inside her, Emma can't access it."

"Well, that is interesting." Rumplestiltskin stood up.

Jefferson sprang against the bars, heart thudding. "We had a deal. You owe me."

"Yes, yes, calm yourself. I'm only stretching my legs." Rumplestiltskin ambled over to the desk. "You have three questions," he said, back turned to Jefferson. "But before you ask them, I suggest you think hard about what you really want."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want the truth? Or do you want your daughter back?"

"I don't understand."

"They're not the same thing."

Jefferson went cold. He wanted to be with Grace more than anything—more than he wanted air—but Emma's name was still ringing in his ears. He'd told Rumplestiltskin her secret; he owed her. At least, he could find out what she wanted to know.

"Why did you help Regina frame Mary Margaret?" he asked.

"Oh, so it's the truth you want. How very disappointing." Rumplestiltskin turned away from the desk and walked back to the cell. "It won't help you with your daughter. What was her name? It was something very pretty, I think."

Jefferson's jaw clenched. "Answer the question."

"I helped Regina, briefly, in order to frame her." He tossed his head slightly, as if for emphasis. "All the evidence of Katheryn's abduction pointed to our mayor: the key from her office, the tampered evidence, her cruelty toward Mary Margaret. I wanted Emma to see exactly what sort of person Regina was."

"Why?" Jefferson asked.

"You're wasting your questions."

"They're my questions." Jefferson pressed his face against the bars. "Why do you care so much what Emma thinks of Regina?"

"I need Emma to believe."

Jefferson blinked. "Explain."

"I should think that was obvious." Rumplestiltskin stepped closer to the bars, ignoring the chair altogether. "Emma is not going to believe the truth. Not until she's in the right state of mind." He lifted his cane, looking at the top ornament like it was a crystal ball. "Not until she's well and truly… desperate."

It clicked. "Her son… Henry… he still lives with Regina."

"Exactly." Rumplestiltskin put the cane down with a thunk. "You see, there is one thing that will override a mother's most stubborn belief system—a threat to her child. In that case, she will believe anything she needs to, in order to make sure he's safe." Rumplestiltskin peered at Jefferson. "Perhaps you know something about that?"

Jefferson looked away.

"The more of Regina's dark side is revealed, the more desperate Emma will become to save Henry. Unfortunately, it's not Regina she's focused on, now is it?"

"Emma still thinks Regina is behind this."

"But she's not entirely sure, is she? You've given her another suspect. You distracted her. All because you got impatient."

The cane smacked the bars so hard, the cell door rattled. Jefferson jumped back. Rumplestiltskin pressed the side of his face against the bars: a profile of gleaming, shark-like eyes; a long, thin nose; a half mouth sneer, baring teeth. But it wasn't the horrible face or the noise of the cane that caused Jefferson's breath to quicken, his pulse to race. It was that dark and malignant energy, driving towards him like a thunderstorm, crackling the air.

"You just couldn't wait, could you? After all this time lurking in the shadows, you had to do a stupid thing like that. Tell me, Jefferson, what was it that made you act so rashly?"

It was the invitations with the pink flowered tea pots that had gone out in the mail, seven in total, none to him. It was the fancy china tea cups and the plate of scones and cookies bought from her favorite bakery. It was the bunches of white balloons and twisted blue streamers, the seven giggling girls in their fancy dresses, the parcels wrapped in shiny paper and giant bows, and the cake crowned with eleven pink candles—and a twelfth blue one for luck.

Jefferson swallowed. "You've had your three questions."

"And you've had two." Rumplestiltskin stepped back from the bars. "So far, you've wasted them on Emma. This is your last chance to consider your daughter, Jefferson. I implore you, think hard about what you really want."

Jefferson clutched the bars. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted to be the man at his daughter's birthday party, to usher in the girls, to help Grace serve the tea, to light the candles on her cake, and to wipe a smear of frosting on her nose. He wanted his life back, how it should have been.

"I want to know how to break this curse," Jefferson said.

"No." Rumplestiltskin pointed a finger through the bars. "You want to know how to get your daughter back."

"They're the same thing."

"Are they?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "When curses break, do the consequences just magically disappear? Did you think that when Regina's curse is broken, the memory of this world will simply be ripped from your daughter's mind? You know very well that's not how magic works."

Jefferson knew.

Yet there was something, like a foggy pane of glass, that prevented him from seeing clearly. Even Rumplestiltskin's words were like letters written on a piece of paper, something he glanced at, folded up, and stashed deep in a file in his mind. Jefferson knew if he fully understood what Rumplestiltskin was saying he would break down into a sobbing mess of despair. So he refused to understand.

Jefferson put his hands in his pockets. "So how do I fix it?" he asked. "How do I get my daughter back?"

"Well, that's quite simple," Rumplestiltskin said. "There's only one person in this town with the power to change memories. One person who can bend the curse to her will."

Regina.

"No." Jefferson narrowed his eyes. "I'm not working with her. Not after what she did to me."

"Until the curse is broken, Regina still rules this land. She can change your daughter's memories. It won't help _you_ forget the past, but it will give you and your daughter a fresh start. And after what you did to her, isn't that what you really want?"

"You don't know what I did."

"I don't need the details, Jefferson. I can read between the lines." Rumplestiltskin fluttered his fingers in wavy lines through the air. "For twenty-eight years, you've been separated from your daughter due to the bubble of time that exists around this town. Now, time has started up again. You can form a relationship with your daughter. So why are you here in jail and not out there with her?"

The question drilled into his mind. _Why?_ It was like a hole had opened in his skull, and the truth was flooding in, acidic and burning and _hard_. Jefferson felt like he was floating outside his body, watching himself from a cold objective eye, as he followed his daughter, crept around her school, spied on her with a telescope—but never once introduced himself.

Why did he act like that?

 _Why?_

"I'll tell you why." Rumplestiltskin leaned closer to the bars. "It isn't love for your daughter that's driving you, Jefferson. It's guilt. Sometime before the curse, you made a mistake—maybe you broke a promise—maybe you abandoned her. The point is, you want to fix it. But you can't. Because you can't change the past—not without magic. So I suggest you opt for the next best thing. Go to Regina and beg her to change your daughter's memories. Give yourself the relationship with your daughter you always wanted—one where she doesn't know what sort of man her father truly is."

All the breath had gone out of his body. Jefferson felt like a corpse.

"And how do I do that?" he whispered, in a voice he wasn't entirely sure was his own.

"You're a smart man. Figure it out."

He didn't feel smart. Right now, Jefferson felt tossed and turned in the turmoil of his emotions, the wires of his brain short circuiting, images flashing through his mind like a flickering T.V. set or a shuffling of deck of cards, too much, too much. But there was one thing he knew, one thing that cut through the confusion like cold steel.

Rumplestiltskin never made deals for anyone's benefit but his own.

"You've been guiding me toward this realization," Jefferson said slowly. "You want me to help Regina. Why?"

Rumplestiltskin glanced away. He didn't reply.

He didn't have to. Jefferson realized he already knew the answer.

"You want me to drive a wedge between Regina and Emma. Just like you planned." Jefferson put a hand up to the bars and leaned over. "But if Emma believes, the curse will break. My fresh start will come to nothing."

"It's true, I do want you to repair some of the damage you've done," Rumplestiltskin said. "But Emma's belief has nothing to do with breaking the curse."

"Then what are you after?"

"That is, and will forever be, _my_ business," Rumplestiltskin said, turning his back on him. "Suffice it to say, we can both get what we want. You'll have your daughter. I'll have Emma's belief. We'll both be happy—if you follow my advice."

He made as if to leave, before stopping.

"Oh, and one final thing, Jefferson." He turned. "It won't be easy to talk to Regina from behind these bars. So here."

Rumplestiltskin reached into his pocket. He took out the skeleton key and flung it inside, as though tossing a treat to his favorite mutt. Jefferson heard the tiny object clink, bounce, and rattle on the tile floor.

"Consider it a gift."

… … …

Everything was ready, or as ready as it could be. The cabin was clean. The tea pot was arranged on the table, two tea cups set beside it, and a plate of cookies in the center. The kettle hung over the fireplace. The rabbit stuffed animal rested on the chair.

Jefferson smoothed down his hair. He wished he could have showered and shaved but without running water, there was no time. He should have at least brought a change of clothes. Jefferson tried to rub a soot stain off the cuff of his jacket, but only succeeded in making the black smudge bigger. He hoped he didn't too much like a bum.

He checked his pocket watch for the hundredth time. 12:30. By now, school would be out. Grace should be walking down the road. Soon she'd stumble on the wallet. She'd find the address. The cabin was on her way. She'd be here to return it any minute.

Any minute now….

Jefferson took a ragged breath. This was so stupid. So many things could go wrong, and even if they didn't, it was still a trick. A coward's way of talking to someone. He'd had twenty-eight years to plan and months after that. But he'd put it off, and now there was no time.

All because he couldn't see.

Because he didn't want to see.

A knock on the door.

Jefferson's heart rattled. He tightened the scarf around his neck.

 _Don't act crazy, don't act crazy._

He opened the door.

"Hi." Grace smiled. "I think you might have lost your wallet."

She wore a pink jacket with a fur lined hood, and her honey-brown hair was held back in a loose ponytail. In her face, he saw every memory they'd had together, from her first smile, her first words, the day she asked what had happened to her mother, the way she'd brought joy to their big lovely house, how she smiled the day they were forced to sell it, the way she collected blackberries and acorns for their afternoon teas. All wrapped up in the face of this same girl, his still-sweet Grace. Seeing her was happiness and pain, and the worst thing was, Jefferson could reveal neither.

 _Act normal_ , he commanded himself. _Act normal, act normal_.

"Oh," Jefferson said. "I didn't know I dropped it." He took the wallet from her and made a show of looking through it. "Yes, this is mine. Thank you for returning it. That was very honest of you."

"You're welcome," she said brightly.

She started to turn away.

 _Don't leave. Not yet._

"Perhaps, a reward." He flipped through the cash in his wallet.

"Oh no, that's okay." Grace waved her hands in protest. "I don't need money. My parents give me everything I need."

It was like getting stabbed with a knife.

"Oh. Yes, I see." Jefferson glanced at her pink jacket. "That's a pretty jacket you're wearing. Is it new?"

"Yes. My papa gave it to me for my birthday."

The knife twisted in deeper, jabbing into vital organs. Jefferson plastered a smile on his face. _Act normal!_

 _Not for your sake, but for hers._

"You know," Jefferson said. "I once had a daughter like you. She was kind and sweet and honest. I wanted to give her pretty things, like your father does."

"Why don't you, then?" Grace asked.

"Because I lost her," Jefferson said. "I took a job that forced me to travel. It paid well. I thought I could buy her everything she deserved. I told her I'd be back soon, but then I got delayed. By the time I made it back, she was taken from me."

"I'm sorry," Grace said.

"It was a long time ago. The last thing I promised her was…" The kettle began whistling, as if on cue. Jefferson smiled. "…that I'd be back in time for tea. Speaking of which, if you'll excuse me."

He ran inside to pull the tea kettle off the hearth, leaving the door wide open. He knew Grace would be drawn in by curiosity, and sure enough he saw, out of the corner of his eye, her step under the door frame. Jefferson's hands shook as he poured hot water through a strainer of loose leaves. He couldn't believe his stupid plan was working. But he didn't want to get too optimistic. He'd probably find a way to screw it up.

"Are you expecting guests?" Grace asked.

"No," Jefferson said. "It's just me. But I always place the cup and rabbit out, in memory of my daughter."

"That's sweet."

"Thank you. What did you say your name was?"

"Paige."

"Well, Paige, in honor of my daughter, would you care to join me for a cup of tea?" He waved his hand toward the set-up.

Grace stepped back. "Actually, I have ballet practice I need to get to…"

 _No, no, no!_

Jefferson tried to quell the wave of panic that slammed into him. Grace was perceptive. She'd pick up on his anxieties. He had to be calm, normal, casual.

Like an indifferent stranger, not a father watching his daughter slip away.

"I hope I didn't make you late," he said.

"No, practice doesn't start until 4:00."

"I'll tell you what. If you have a few minutes, why don't we sit on the porch and have tea there? I could tell you more about my daughter. Then, as a thank you, I'll give you the rabbit."

He gestured at the stuffed toy.

Grace frowned. "But doesn't that belong to your daughter?"

"She never actually got it. I was going to give it to her after I got back from my trip, but then…" His voice trailed as he allowed some of the pain to seep in. "For years I hung onto it, but now, well, it's time to move on. Let go of the past. I want you to have it."

Grace looked at the tea, the rabbit, and then at him. She stared long and hard. Sometimes, she reminded Jefferson of her mother, another painful memory, but mostly, all he saw was the times they shared, their once happy life.

A life he was never going to get back.

"Well…" Grace hesitated. "Okay. I guess if we're outside, that's all right."

"Great."

Relieved, Jefferson took the plate of cookies and cups out to the porch. Two rickety chairs and a small table waited outside. Fortunately, he'd cleaned the spiderwebs off them earlier that morning. As Grace sat on one of the chairs, Jefferson poured the tea. Red liquid filled both cups.

Grace picked up her tea cup and took a tiny sip.

Jefferson smiled and put down the pot.

"If my daughter were here, this is what I'd tell her."

... ... ...

 **Author's Note:** Hope you liked that chapter. It was one of my favorites. I just love the Rumplestiltskin and Jefferson interaction. Anyway, I wanted to thank all my patient readers for sticking around. I'm currently doing National Novel Writing Month, and I'm publishing a book of short stories called "Captured in Color," so writing might be slow, but I'll do my best to continue with the story. Thanks again for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

_Previously on Once Upon a Time…_

Rumplestiltskin visits Jefferson in his cell and the two agree to exchange information. After grilling Jefferson about Emma's magic, Rumplestiltskin advises Jefferson to make a deal with Regina to change his daughter's memories. Jefferson realizes that Rumplestiltskin wants Emma to believe in the curse. Rumplestiltskin gives Jefferson a key to his cell, and Jefferson escapes. The next day, Jefferson lures his daughter to his cabin for tea.

… … …

 **Chapter 6**

Emma plopped into her desk with a sigh. Well, that trip to Regina's secret underground "medical institution" had been more than a little disturbing. Her earlier thoughts of it being a dungeon had been right on the money. Dim lights, lone padded cells, burly staff members whose only job was to walk the prisoners to the cafeteria and back, eying them like hawks when it came time to take their meds. And that cold-blooded nurse at the desk gave her chills. The whole thing was fishy.

Emma opened the file on Jefferson and glanced over it for what felt like the hundredth time. If only she had proof…

"Miss Swan, a word?"

Emma inwardly groaned. Twice in one day. Great.

She spun around to see Regina standing in the doorway of the sheriff's office, looking rather peeved. Though it was already late in the afternoon, Regina's blouse was still crisp and ironed, her hair still perfectly in place. As if by magic.

"Madam Mayor," Emma said flatly.

"When I gave you that file, it was not so you could harass my hospital staff." Regina crossed the room. "You have a job to do. Why aren't you out catching that man?"

Regina slapped her palms on Emma's desk and her red nails grazed the edge of Jefferson's file. Emma yanked the file away and stood up.

"I've already searched Jefferson's house," Emma snapped. "He wasn't there. He has no neighbors, no friends, not a single phone number in his house. Until someone sees him, there's not much I can do. But the truth is, even if I did find him, I don't know if the charges will stick. All the evidence is gone, and our lone witness can't identify him."

"He's clearly disturbed," Regina said. "You've seen his file."

"Yeah, about that." Emma opened the file to the front page. "I've been reading through the report, and I've noticed some inconsistencies."

Regina pressed her lips into a frown. "What inconsistencies?"

"His age, for instance. He's listed as 29."

"So?"

"That's the same age he gave me when I arrested him," Emma said.

"And your point?"

"This file is ten years old."

"Well, then he lied to you."

"You're telling me he's actually 39? Almost 40?" Emma tilted her head.

"He's aged well," Regina snapped. "Clearly crazy does wonders for your skin."

"And then there's this." Emma turned the page. "It says here, Jefferson was admitted to the hospital after he abducted a ten-year-old girl who he claimed was his daughter."

"That just proves he's a menace to our society."

"I've seen this girl. She's in Henry's class. Ten years ago she would have been a baby. I called her parents, and they have no memory of anyone kidnapping her."

"It's probably a different girl," Regina said. "He fixates on girls of a certain age to represent his lost daughter. It's part of his delusion."

"Funny," Emma said. "I spoke to the hospital staff and that's exactly what they told me."

"Well, there you go."

"Word for word," Emma insisted. "Like they recited it."

Regina folded her arms over her chest. "You seem to have lost track of your job, Miss Swan. You're not a detective. You're a bounty hunter. You're job is to catch the bad guys. So I suggest you do your job, Miss Swan, or the next time he strikes, you may not be so lucky." She inched closer. "I'd hate for the blood of an innocent person to be on your hands."

Emma managed to hold her temper until after Regina stormed out. But as soon as the mayor was gone, Emma threw the file onto the desk. Yeah, Regina was a fine one to speak of innocence, when she'd been oozing lies the whole time she was here.

The file opened, showing a picture of Jefferson. Ten years had done nothing to change his appearance. Even his expression looked eerily similar. Defeated. Apathetic. Like nothing mattered anymore. Something about that expression made Emma want to help him, in spite of everything.

Because there was something very strange going on, something that Emma couldn't quite grasp. The non-aging. The gaps in memories. Regina's iron grip on the town. There were times she could almost believe…

But no. She couldn't.

Emma flipped through the file again, and the name of Sheriff Graham caught her eye. After Jefferson had abducted the girl, he'd crashed his car near the town line. Graham had found him and brought him into the station

The name caused a stab of pain to her heart. Emma had not loved Graham, but she'd felt the stirrings of feelings, something that might have turned into love, if given time. For him to die so abruptly felt like the universe's way of telling her she didn't deserve happiness.

Or maybe it wasn't the universe. Maybe it was just Regina.

The timing had been odd. Graham had died shortly after rejecting Regina. A heart attack. Strange for a young man, but no signs of foul play. And it wasn't just that. Graham had also been talking about alternate lives, about Henry's fairy tale book. "I remember" was the last thing he said to her.

If Graham were still alive, would he have believed Jefferson?

Emma shoved the speculation away. No. This was silly. If Graham were alive, he would have helped her solve the case. Maybe he could have cleared up what happened the night of Jefferson's first abduction.

Emma straightened. Maybe he did know. Graham was nothing if not diligent—he would have filed a police report. If she could get a hold of it, there might be something that could tell her—

What exactly?

 _I'll know it when I see it,_ Emma thought. She grabbed her flashlight and headed for the basement.

Graham did not believe in technology, Emma had learned early on. Instead, he wrote his police reports by hand and filed the old ones in the moldering depths of the basement. If Emma wanted to know the truth, she'd have to dig it up the old-fashioned way.

Emma went downstairs. Stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes loomed in the shadows, like ghosts. Emma tried to turn on the light, but it didn't work. She went back upstairs, got her flashlight, and began sorting through the boxes.

Graham was organized, she had to give him that. He'd written the years on the tops of the boxes. Her flashlight grazed the cardboard. 2003, 1996, 1988. Emma frowned. He had boxes going back to the 80s? In _his_ hand-writing?

 _How is that even possible?_ Emma wondered. Graham wasn't much older than her. There was no way he could have been a sheriff back then—he'd be a kid. It made no sense. Unless…

 _Time is frozen_.

Emma shook her head.

No, this wasn't happening. There had to be some explanation.

Holding her flashlight under her arm, she began to unstack the boxes, trying to figure out how far back they went. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw the year of her birth. She swallowed. She searched for older boxes, but there didn't seem to be any.

Emma stared at the box with her birth year.

She knew this no longer had anything to do with Jefferson, but it didn't matter. This was about the truth. Emma didn't want to know, she didn't want to open the box. She wanted to put it back, walk away, and pretend she'd never seen any of this.

But Regina's comment got under her skin.

 _The blood of an innocent person on your hands…_

Emma lifted up the lid.

The reports didn't go back very far. The earliest folder was labeled October 23, 1983. Her birthday. Emma felt sick. Her flashlight's beam trembled as she raised it toward the page.

 _Please don't mean anything, please don't mean anything…_

She stared at Jefferson's picture.

It was a polaroid, faded and de-colored with age. The paper the report was written on had turned brittle and yellow. The date—in Graham's hand-writing—was listed 1983.

But Jefferson hadn't aged a day.

… … …

A buzzing from her jacket pocket made Emma jump. Heart pounding, Emma grabbed the phone, half expecting some cryptic remark from Jefferson. Instead, she saw it was Henry.

"Kid," she said, in a shaky voice. "This isn't a good time."

"Paige wants to talk to you," Henry interrupted.

"Paige?" The meaning of the word registered. "Jefferson's daughter—the girl he claims is his daughter," Emma corrected. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She knows where he is."

"What? How?"

"Meet us at the Cobra's Nest. I brought her there. She'll explain everything in person."

"Just tell me now."

"I can't. Mom might be bugging the phone lines. Meeting's safer. You remember where the Cobra's Nest is?"

"Yeah, it's the—"

"Meet us there. Make sure you aren't being followed."

Henry hung up.

Emma sighed. Sometimes she thought Henry got too caught up in his spy games. On the other hand, life had gotten so crazy, maybe he had a point. Emma walked back up the stairs and glanced out the window, briefly, before stepping outside.

Was this what it felt like to go crazy?

She tried to focus on Paige. This was the girl Jefferson had kidnapped at least twice, if the reports could be believed. Which, they couldn't, because that would mean he had kidnapped his daughter eighteen years before she was born.

The Cobra's Nest was code for the top story of the clock tower. Up the flight of stairs stood a thin ledge between the clock's face and the gears that churned and clanged. Althhough the stone walls were cold, the glass circle let in plenty of light.

Henry squatted near the railing, the book open on the floor. With him sat a girl in a pink jacket with blond hair. Henry looked at Emma as she stepped up the stairs to meet them, but Paige's eyes were glued to a picture of a brown-haired man in Henry's book. Emma tried not to notice the resemblance to Jefferson.

"I'm here," Emma said. "Now what is this about?"

Henry peered down the stairs. "You sure you aren't being watched?"

"No one's following me. What's going on?"

Henry nodded to Paige. "Tell her."

Paige stood up. "The man you arrested for kidnapping… I saw him today."

Emma's stomach sank. "What happened?"

"I found a wallet on the way home from school. Inside was an address for an old cabin I pass on my way to school. Today, I saw the chimney going, and when I knocked on the door, _he_ answered."

She pointed to the picture in Henry's book.

"The Mad Hatter," Paige said.

"His name is Jefferson," Emma said.

"Is he really my father?" Paige asked.

"Is that what he told you?"

"No. He thanked me for finding the wallet and invited me in for a cup of tea."

Alarm bells were ringing. "You didn't drink it, did you? Tell me you didn't drink it."

"I know better than to take food from strangers."

Emma relaxed.

"But the thing is, I sort of know him," Paige said. "I mean, I've never spoken to him, but I see him all the time. He sits at the park by the school reading, and he often has dinner at the Italian restaurant near my ballet studio. So it's not like he's really a stranger…"

"Paige…" Emma warned.

"I didn't go inside his house. I just sat on the porch with him and drank tea."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"He wasn't going to hurt me. I know you won't believe me, but I got this feeling from him. I knew he was good inside. I knew I could trust him."

"It's her superpower," Henry added.

 _No_ , Emma thought, _it's a dangerous naivete, and it could have well gotten her kidnapped. Or worse._ Emma glanced at Paige again but didn't see any signs of a struggle. No bruises or scratches. No signs of trauma. She looked calm.

"How did you escape?" Emma asked.

"I didn't escape. I had tea, he gave me a stuffed rabbit, and then I left. But before I went, he asked if I knew a boy named Henry Mills. I told him that he was in my class, and he said that his birth mother, Emma, was a friend of his. He asked if I could give you his address."

She handed Emma a business card.

Emma felt a chill. "This is…"

"It's the cabin he was at. I can show you if you like."

"I'm good, thanks." Emma tucked the card into her pocket. "You should probably get home. Your parents must be worried."

"Are you going to arrest him? Are you going to put him in jail?" Paige asked.

"He broke the law."

"He didn't kidnap Katheryn," Henry said. "You know it wasn't him."

Emma wanted to point out that he had kidnapped _her_ , but she bit her tongue. She hadn't brought that fact to daylight yet and wasn't sure she wanted to. Something strange was going on. The image of the faded polaroid flashed in her mind.

"Paige," Emma said, "you never spoke to Jefferson before today?"

"No. This was the first time."

"Do you remember when he started appearing near you?"

Her forehead wrinkled. "Um… last fall, I think?"

"Not before that?"

Paige's face took on a vague expression. "I don't remember."

"It's the curse," Henry said.

Emma shook her head. "I'm going to talk to him."

"Please," Paige said. "I don't think he meant any harm. He said—"

She stopped.

"What did he say?" Emma said.

"I didn't understand it at the time. But he told he'd accepted that his daughter was in a better place. He said that if he had the chance to talk to her, he would tell her he loved her. He said he was proud of her and he was sorry that he couldn't be the father she deserved. If he was talking about me, what does that mean?"

"It sounds like a goodbye," Emma said.

"But he can't leave town," Henry pointed out.

"Not in the usual way."

"What's that mean?"

Emma felt a sudden surge of fear. "Henry, take Paige home. Call a cab or something. Call Mary Margaret. I've got to go."

"But—"

Emma was already dashing down the stairs.

Jefferson was desperate. It was either run or fight or… or end it, once and for all. _Suicide?_ Emma wondered. Was that his plan? And if so, why had he given her the address? Was he hoping to provoke her into shooting him? Or was he already dead and had given her the location of the body?

Heart racing, Emma drove to the address. She was expecting the worse, but instead found him sitting on the porch, leaning back with his eyes shut. Emma got out of her car, slamming the door shut. He startled at the sound, opening his eyes. _Still alive_ , she thought, with some relief—that was, until she noticed the tea pot on the table beside him and a single white tea cup.

"Nice evening, isn't it?" Jefferson said in a languid tone. "I'd offer you tea, but it's gone cold." He took a sip from one of the cups. "You probably wouldn't take it, anyway."

"Give me that cup!" Emma yelled.

She rushed up to him and pulled the cup from his hand. She glanced inside. It was empty, except for a stain of red on the porcelain. Her insides went cold.

"What did you put in the tea? Tell me."

"It's just tea." Jefferson said. He frowned. "You didn't think I'd poison myself, did you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," Emma said. "You escape from jail, only to send your daughter to find me. What kind of game are you playing?"

Jefferson gazed off into the fading sunlight. "Do you ever see something every single day, and yet not see it at all. The evidence is in front of your face, but your mind can't piece it together. Won't piece it together. Because if you ever saw the truth, it would destroy you."

His words knocked the air out of her. "What are you talking about?"

"My daughter."

"Grace?"

"It's Paige now," he said. "You see, Grace lost her mother, then her fortune, then her father. Her life was miserable. But Paige? Paige has two parents who love her very much, who give her everything she could ever want. Everything I couldn't. Paige is happy." He stood up. "All this time, I've tried to get back to her, tried to make it so we could be together. I've been so set on it, I couldn't see the truth."

"Which is?" Emma asked.

"That she's better off without me." He smiled sadly. "What kind of parent would I be to ruin her happiness for the sake of my own?"

This wasn't a lie. That's what shook Emma. The genuineness in the way he spoke, the bittersweet pain that came from sacrificing your happiness for the good of your child. It was something Emma was only just starting to learn. But Jefferson wasn't a parent. It was a delusion— _his_ delusion. So why did his feelings seem more real than the world she currently inhabited?

"Why did you leave jail?" Emma asked.

"I promised my daughter tea."

"You arranged all this just to say goodbye?"

"Yes."

"And giving me your address?"

He shrugged. "You'll find me sooner or later. There's no pointing in hiding."

"You're saying you'll come quietly?"

"I've lost my daughter, Emma. I have nothing else to live for."

The handcuffs were in her jacket pocket. Emma reached for them, then hesitated. It just seemed… wrong somehow… to bring him in. On the one hand, Jefferson had engaged in some shady—scratch that— _illegal_ behavior. He was dangerous. But did he deserve to be condemned to Regina's little dungeon, locked in a cell and forgotten? She swallowed.

"How'd you get out of jail?" she asked, mostly to buy time.

"Rumplestiltskin came by." Jefferson dug into his coat pocket and brought out a skeleton key. "He wants you and Regina to quarrel. He thinks the only way to get you to believe is if Regina threatens Henry."

Emma took the key. "He wants me to believe? Why?"

"He didn't say. My guess is magic."

"Magic?"

"Magic is closely tied to belief. In this world, Rumpelstiltskin has no magic. I think he wants it back. Somehow your belief is tied to that fact." He shook his head. "I don't understand all of it."

"So, if he let you out…"

"He wanted me to help Regina," Jefferson said.

"And you're not?" She stared at him.

He shook his head. "Why would I? I don't want Henry to get hurt. Or you, for that matter. And if it comes down to you or Regina, I'd rather bet on you. I believe you can break the curse, Emma. It's only a matter of time."

She didn't want to believe. She didn't want to think about it.

Every time she waded into his madness, she got sucked in. It was like a whirlpool, and she was afraid if she got too close, she'd never escape. She was already sinking. Every time she stared into his deep blue eyes, she felt a little more detached from the world she thought she knew.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst of it was that it wasn't just her mind she was in danger of losing, but her heart.

Not that she was about to admit it, but there was a stirring there, this dim little flutter she'd felt with… well, briefly with Graham, but before that… She swallowed. Jefferson was, she had to admit, rather attractive, and as she began to contemplate what it meant if he were not crazy… or even if he was… if he were, under all this, a good man, a good father, someone she could confide in... It made her want to get a little closer, just to see… even if she were not ready to do anything else.

This was making it worse. She had a job. She had to arrest him. But what was she arresting him for? If she believed him, everything he'd done had been to be with his daughter and now he was giving that up.

"Regina says you're a danger to society," Emma said slowly.

"Is that what you believe?" he asked.

"I don't know what to believe. Maybe you are, but… I don't think you want to be. I think there's some part of you fighting to be good—but you'll never get there if you're locked up in cell."

He blinked. "You're not going to arrest me?"

"Technically, the evidence is gone. Vanished. Katheryn never saw who kidnapped her, so as of now there's really nothing to hold you on. Of course, if Mary Margaret and I decide to testify that you kidnapped us—"

"You're helping me?" Jefferson cut her off. "Why?"

Emma shoved her hands in her pockets. She no longer trusted herself to gaze directly into his eyes; instead she turned and stared into the forest, dark with shadows.

"I've spent years going from one institution to the next. Foster care. Prison. None of them did me any good. If someone hadn't given me a second chance, who knows where I'd be?" She licked her lips. "And maybe… there's a small part of me that wants to believe. I just need someone to show me how."

"You have your son."

"Henry's done all he can. Maybe it's time to look at things from a new perspective. I'm not saying I'm going to believe overnight, I'm not even sure I really want to. But… for Henry's sake… I need to understand what's going on." She looked at him. "Will you help me believe in magic?"

... ... ...

Note: Sorry, this took so long. Writing always takes an amount of passion, and sometimes when I do too much at once, I get burned out. Anyway, hope you like this chapter. Please read and review.


	7. Chapter 7

_Previously on Once Upon a Time…_

As Emma delves into old police reports, she finds disturbing evidence that Jefferson hasn't aged in 28 years. Henry contacts her, and Emma learns that Jefferson has said goodbye to his daughter and is prepared to turn himself in. Rather than arrest him, Emma decides to let him go and asks Jefferson if he can help her believe in magic.

… … …

Chapter 7

"You want me to help you believe?" Jefferson asked.

He was surprised, but only mildly. He had given up his daughter, the hardest thing imaginable, and his emotions were worn down like soft velveteen. He was in a state of serene numbness, half-convinced that there was nothing left on earth that could still affect him. But here stood Emma, her hands dug deep into the pockets of her leather jacket, her hazel eyes peering up from beneath her lashes, a little crinkle in her brow.

Abruptly, she turned. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"It's not stupid. Magic is a paradox. It requires faith. But… are you sure you want to?"

Emma gazed out over the porch, motionless. The last rays of sunlight cast golden glimmers across her face. There was something wistful in her hazel eyes, something scared. But her mouth was hard, her jaw clenched.

"I want to help Henry."

"I know," Jefferson said. "But belief isn't something you can turn on or off at will. If you do believe, it will change everything. Are you prepared for that?"

"I guess we'll find out."

He nodded and gestured to the door. "Step inside."

After a moment's hesitation, Emma walked in.

It was only after Jefferson passed the threshold that it occurred to him his hovel was ill-equipped for guests. Though the twilight lingered outside, the room was pitch black. Emma played with the light switches and frowned.

"I didn't get the electricity turned on," Jefferson explained. "But I think there are some emergency candles in the kitchen. And the fire will keep us warm."

The ashes still shouldered on the hearth from when he'd made tea for Grace. While Jefferson added firewood and coaxed the flames, Emma set up the candles on the cheap card table, using cups and saucers as holders. This gave the room some light, but the flashlight/ lantern Emma brought in from her car was brighter still. She set in on the table with the candles. Jefferson walked up beside her, using the edge of the tablecloth to wipe the soot off his hands.

"I'd offer you tea," he said, "but you've filled all my cups."

"I wouldn't take it, anyway," she replied.

He grinned.

But underneath the mask of bravado, Jefferson felt uncertain and a little foolish. Emma assumed he could help her, and he wanted to, but he didn't know how. His last few attempts to get her to believe hadn't exactly gone well. They hadn't done nothing, since she was here now, asking. Jefferson brought out a couple of folding chairs and set them up across from each other, one near the card table, one near the fireplace.

"So how exactly do you think this will work?" he asked. "Me helping you, I mean."

"I don't know." Emma tucked her arms across her chest. "I don't suppose you can wave your hands and summon a unicorn or something."

"You're the one with magic, not me," Jefferson pointed out.

"Right," Emma said. "But you lived in this fairy tale land. The one in Henry's book. What was it like?"

Jefferson shrugged.

"I want to know," Emma said, sitting down in the chair.

He sighed and sat down across from her. "Have you ever read Henry's book?"

"Not very much of it."

"But you've read fairy tales?"

"I've seen the movies."

"Then you already know what it's like. Ogres. Dragons. Curses. Magic—magic, most of all. Magic can appear anywhere, in any state. It's as rare as true love, and like true love, it can transform people—for better or for worse." He leaned forward. "Magic can give you whatever you desire. But there's always a cost. Magic is as dangerous as it is beautiful. It breathes life into the different worlds, it gives them their vitality. But it can destroy everything in a heartbeat."

Emma drew a shuddering breath. "Okay, that's…"

"A lot to take in?"

"…abstract," she finished. "I had an easier time with the dwarfs and princesses." She raked a hand across her hair. "Why don't we talk about something concrete? Tell me about your life."

"My life," he echoed grimly.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. Jefferson clicked his tongue along the edge of his teeth.

"Well," he said tersely, "I was born to a family of magicians. I didn't have magic, so I didn't have a place. When I was fifteen, I stole my father's hat and became a portal jumper. I made my living stealing magical objects and selling them to the highest bidder. Occasionally, I would escort people across the realms. The money was good. Then I met my wife and…"

A spasm of pain roiled through him. Jefferson's mouth twitched. He pulled his arms in across his chest.

"How does this help you?"

"Did something happen to your wife?" Emma asked.

"She died," he said shortly.

"I'm sorry."

Jefferson shrugged and looked away. It had been nearly forty years ago. He still remembered her, of course, her sparkling eyes, her mischievous grin… and her blood-soaked body lying still in his arms. Sometimes it seemed like he remembered her better in death than in life. The guilt kept every detail sharp, while the happy memories faded. Maybe if he had a portrait of her…. He didn't, though. The closest remembrance he had was their daughter, and she was gone now, too.

"Maybe if we focus on a specific part of your story," Emma suggested.

"Such as?"

"How did you get that scar around your neck?"

"This?" Jefferson touched it. "I don't think you're ready for that tale."

"Try me."

"I took the Evil Queen to Wonderland, so she could retrieve her father from the Queen of Hearts. But Regina double-crossed me, stole my hat, and left me trapped in Wonderland. The Queen of Hearts chopped off my head—"

Emma stared, bug-eyed.

"—but somehow I survived. The Queen of Hearts put my head back on my body and told me to make a new hat. I couldn't get it to work, because I don't have magic."

Emma blinked.

"Oh, and the Queen of Hearts is actually Regina's mother, Cora." Jefferson smiled. "She's a powerful sorceress in her own right and not a nice lady. Must run in the family"

Emma shook her head. "You're right. I wasn't ready."

"I didn't think so. If stories could have convinced you, you would have believed when Henry showed you the book." Jefferson tapped his fingers across the table. "What you need is to experience magic first-hand."

"You told me this world has no magic."

"You have magic."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I don't—"

"Yes, you do," Jefferson insisted. "I've seen it."

"Because of the hat?"

"Not just the hat." Jefferson leaned his elbow on the table, careful not jar the candles in their teacups. "I was born without magic, but I do have one… talent. A superpower, as you might say. I can sense magic. No matter who has it or what form it takes. That's how I knew you were special." He smiled. "Part of the reason, anyway."

She didn't smile back. Emma's face was stone, her eyes steel, and yet for all that, his words had caused a reaction. Some throbbing emotion, like the ache of an old wound, began beating deep within her walls. Jefferson tilted his head. He could sense the acidic sharpness of fear, but it was more complicated than that.

"Even if it was true, it doesn't help with my problem," Emma said in a neutral voice. "What good is magic if you can't use it?"

"You can't use it because you don't believe in it."

"Which brings us back to the original problem."

"Maybe not," he said softly. "You did use magic before, which means for a brief moment, you believed. We've been treating your belief as if it's some tangible object—you either have it or you don't. But perhaps it's more like moonlight on a cloudy night. It comes and it goes. For a second, it shines bright, and then it's obscured. When you're able to shut down your mind, your heart knows the truth. Just for a second. But a second is all you need."

He searched her eyes as he spoke, searching for an opening beyond that wall. If he could only understand what was at the heart of that wound, if she would only show him…. Suddenly, Jefferson realized he was leaning in close, too close, much closer than he meant to. He could have sworn he'd set their chairs a foot apart, and yet now his face was barely an inch from hers. Emma's lips were parted; she exhaled softly, and he could feel each little breath on his lips.

Dizzily, Jefferson drew back. Emma stood up.

"Right," she said. "I believe for a second and then I'll be able to use magic."

He nodded. "And then your belief will become more… long-term."

"So I'll make another hat. It worked last time."

"You can try." Jefferson also stood, before realizing, "But I don't have any hat-making material."

"I might have some in my trunk."

"You carry fabric?"

"From when I raided your mansion for evidence."

He blinked. "Oh."

"Standard procedure. I'll be right back." She grabbed the electric lantern off the table and half-ran out the door.

Jefferson put a hand over his eyes. What was wrong with him? Quite a long list, actually. He laughed weakly. But this was a new one. He had no idea what to label it. Deranged staring, perhaps. If Emma drove off and never came back, he wouldn't blame her.

The thought sobered him. He didn't want her to leave. Jefferson listened, tensely, stiffly, for the sound of the car engine, but he heard only the mechanical twang of the car trunk opening. Even so, he stepped outside to make sure. Lurking in the door frame, he watched her rummage through the trunk of her yellow bug.

Watching her brought out this surge of feeling. Jefferson crossed his arms. He didn't know what to call it, but it was warm and strong—much stronger than he was used to feeling. It was disturbing, uncomfortable, and pleasant.

Jefferson swallowed. Magic, he knew from personal experience, ran hand in hand with emotion, passion… and obsession. Though he hadn't gotten magic, he'd damn well inherited the obsession part from his family. He did not want this side of him to protrude out again. Especially since so much depended on Emma.

Emma had magic, which was rare. She was a good person, which was rarer still. And the combination of magic and goodness was not only rare, it was formidable. It could break any curse, it could conquer evil, it could create the kind of world he wanted his daughter to live in. So much hinged on Emma, whether she knew it or not. He could not afford to let obsession cloud his mind, make him do stupid things.

Emma came back with an armful of felt, scissors, and thread. Jefferson stood at the door. Her strides were brisk and purposeful; he felt slow, half in a trance. He closed the door behind him, trying to rouse himself. He managed to sit down again, casually, while she arranged the hat-making materials on the table.

"I just have to believe," she muttered.

"You can do it," he said.

He watched her work. Not out of any prurient interest, but to sense for magic. Her eyes narrow in concentration (focus), her tongue poked out from between her lips (focus), her skin was bathed in candlelight (focus!). He shoved away whatever emotion was building in him in order to get a read on her feelings. They seemed muted. If anything, the act of making a hat was tearing her away from the inner pulse of magic, bringing to mind patterns and stitches, logic and the material world.

"Stop," he told her.

"Am I not sewing this right or—?"

"It doesn't matter. The hat isn't what's important."

"I'm trying to believe."

"How?" Jefferson asked. "Are you trying to convince yourself that magic makes sense? Because that's never going to work. Belief isn't about what makes sense. It's… it's more about trust."

"I trust you," she muttered.

"Do you?"

"A little."

"It's not about trusting 'a little.' You have to do it whole-heartedly—or not at all."

Emma folded her arms across her chest.

"Don't worry," he added darkly. "You don't have to trust me. You're the one with magic. You need to trust yourself."

"I trust myself fine," she said defensively.

"Fine isn't good enough. You need to trust yourself completely."

Emma rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what you want out of me. You said I got the hat to work before. I must have believed in myself then."

She had a point.

Jefferson took himself back to that moment. He'd captured her, drugged her, held her at gunpoint. (Not his proudest moment.) He'd forced her to make a hat, thinking he could use her magic. His plan hadn't worked. Part of him knew it wouldn't. There was a cloak of doubt around her, thick as wool, and it muffled his words. But then something had changed.

They were looking out the telescope. He was telling her about Grace. And then Emma started speaking… about what? He had been paying attention but not to her words. He'd noticed how her eyes brightened, how her voice grew soft. She'd been cold as iron up until then, but the words brought out a warmth. That warmth, that comfort—so long since he felt any—it had overwhelmed him. Oh, what was she talking about? He couldn't remember.

Her bashing him over the head with his telescope hadn't helped.

"What happened the night I captured you?" Jefferson asked.

"Mostly, I was trying to escape," Emma said.

"You were telling me a story," he insisted. "What was it about?"

"You mean… about my mother?"

The walls trembled. Belief sparked withing her.

"Or Mary Margaret. Snow White. Henry thinks she's my mother." Emma put a hand to her forehead. "God, this is so stupid. She's my roommate. She's the same age as me. How am I supposed to believe she's my mother?"

The walls hardened, and the spark extinguished. Jefferson let out a low breath. Now he understood the problem. It wasn't that Emma didn't want to believe; she did want to—desperately. But she was afraid of her own desire, and so the more she wanted, the more those walls penned those feelings in. Fear built the walls, but fear of what? Of vulnerability, he guessed.

"Emma," Jefferson said quietly, "I need you to do something. It's going to be uncomfortable, but if you can do it, I think we can tap into your magic."

"What is it?"

"You have to trust me."

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Just a little."

"Fine."

Jefferson opened the closet and pulled out a hat. He had hats everywhere. Occupational hazard. This was one of many he bought while in Storybrooke, futilely hoping that it was his hat. It wasn't. It had no magic in it. He pushed the candles to the edge of the table and plopped the hat down.

"You could have saved me the trouble," Emma said.

"I thought you needed to make the hat to infuse it with your magic. But that's not going to work, so we're going to try something different." He gestured. "Put your hands the hat."

She shot him a dubious look.

"Please," he said.

Emma sighed and pressed her palms to the rim of the hat.

"I want you to picture a room with many doors. Each door is a gateway into another world. The room itself is a portal that links them. It is contained in a vortex and that vortex is contained inside the hat." He came up behind her. "Are you able to imagine it?"

"I think so."

"Good." He took a deep breath. "Now tell me about Henry's father."

Emma jumped up, but Jefferson planted his hands over her and pinned them to the hat.

"Get off of me!" she yelled.

"Did he hurt you? Is that why it's so hard for you to trust people?"

"That's none of your business," she snapped, pushing away from him.

"It is my business," he said. "Because if you don't open up, you'll never tap into your power. That pain is causing you to doubt yourself. You need to push through it."

"Forget it," she bristled. "I'm not telling you anything."

She started for the door.

Jefferson clenched his hands. "I'm the reason my wife died."

Emma stopped. "What?"

"I dragged her into my line of work," he said. "I had to. The hat only lets the same amount of people through every time. Sometimes, when I brought people from one world to the next, I had to leave her behind—just for a short while. I thought it was fine. I thought I could protect her."

Emma turned away from the door.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"We—we were going to have a baby," Jefferson said. "She wanted to stop. I wanted to make sure that we had everything we needed, so I accepted one last job. A simple one: transportation between the realms. I brought the client to the Enchanted Forest, she stayed behind. But when we came back…"

He swallowed. After all this time, the sting had not gone out of the memory; it needled him like a pin he couldn't digest.

"Grace came early," Jefferson said. "Only two could travel. We were three. She said to take care of Grace, make sure she was safe. I wanted her to go, but she didn't know how to use the hat. I told her I'd come back, as soon as Grace was safe. But by the time I returned…"

The memory returned, unbidden. The shouts of the guards, the zings of their arrows flying by their heads, his wife clutching his arm. She was so weak, so tired, he was practically dragging her, but he could see the doorway to the portal. He leaped for it; she cried out; they tumbled. Inside the portal, Jefferson slammed the door. That's when he noticed the blood on his hands… the blood on her clothes… the arrow lodged into his wife's back, piercing her through the heart.

Jefferson shut his eyes.

"My wife paid for my mistakes. She died, because I put her in danger. I took Grace's mother from her because of my greed, my recklessness. I swore that my daughter would want for nothing else. But I failed that, too."

His breathing was shallow, ragged. He felt as though something had been ripped out from inside of him, something hard and toxic, like a bullet. Jefferson gazed at Emma. She stood framed in the doorway, motionless. Now that his tale was done, would she choose to stay or would she leave him?

Emma shut the door. She walked across the room and sat down.

"His name was Neal," she said. "I met him when I was young. He was a thief, but that didn't matter, because I was, too… and because we loved each other. Or at least, I thought we did. We were going to make a life together. We were going to be a family."

"You never had a family?" he said.

Her hands sat on the table, folded on top of each other like the wings of a dove. Slowly, he took those hands into his own and placed them on the hat. She didn't protest; she seemed not to notice.

"No," she said. "My parents abandoned me. I got passed around in the foster system. I was treated as a burden, a way of making extra money. I thought with Neal, maybe…"

Her eyes started to water. She blinked away the tears.

"But he used me," Emma said. "He made me the fall guy in one of his schemes. He ran off and left me in jail… with Henry on the way."

"I'm sorry," Jefferson said.

He looked at the hat. It didn't move. But Emma's walls had lowered; he could sense the magic glowing within her, like a pool of light, very still. Jefferson felt sure she could dip into it, and once she did, it would be very strong.

He had to be careful. He did not want to hurt her.

"If you were to believe in the curse," he said slowly, "that would mean that you had parents who loved you, who sent you away to protect you. It would mean that, no matter who else came into your life, you had someone who loved you enough to sacrifice everything for you."

"I can't believe that," she whispered.

"But you want to?"

Emma nodded.

"You loved Henry enough to give him his best chance—even if it wasn't with you. And you came back into his life when you realized you were his best chance."

"Yes, but—"

"That kind of love," he interrupted, "it had to come from somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, it came from your parents, from the deep realization that someone loved you enough to give up _everything_."

She shut her eyes.

Magic burst out of Emma like water from a broken dam. It flooded the hat and overflowed into the room. A wave of it crashed into him. What a shock to feel magic again. Jefferson felt as though something long dormant within him had sprung alive again. The hat jumped and shook. Emma shot to her feet.

"What the hell?" she said.

"You got it to work."

Emma stared at the hat. "How?"

"You believed. Just for a moment. But it was enough." Jefferson picked up the hat. "Now, Emma, would you like to see what your magic can really do?"

… … …

Note: Hoped you liked it. I always wondered how Grace's mother died, so I decided to make up my own backstory. Please review, and also, if you like my writing, you can check out my books and blogs at my website rebeccalangstories . com


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